


Matilda, Child of Fire

by MelanijaParadis



Series: The Tessera Tales [2]
Category: Charmed (TV 1998), Charmed (TV 2018)
Genre: Boat Sex, Dressing Room Sex, Dubious Ethics, F/M, Finland (Country), Fire Powers, Glamour spell, Hot Tub Sex, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Inspired by Under the Tuscan Sun, Islands, Minor Character Death, New Zealand, Norway (Country), Office Sex, Pittsburgh, Purgatory, Redemption, Romantic Soulmates, Seattle, Summer Camp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:47:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 36
Words: 76,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25639015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelanijaParadis/pseuds/MelanijaParadis
Summary: Twenty-one-year-old Matilda Valensi, youngest daughter of Macy and Harry, loses her temper at her Tessera Nightclub job, accidentally setting fire to the place. For community service, she's a junior counselor at magical Camp Wanaka in New Zealand, run by Paige Matthews. She's partnered with Wyatt Halliwell Jr. "Wyatt," who rescues her from a rogue sea monster. Meanwhile, Macy and Harry fly to Norway, searching for Morgana, missing after a succubus birth. Years later, Matilda bumps into Wyatt, who helps her ascend her pyro-telekinesis powers under boss Persephone at Purgatory Corp. Leo fixes Vera Manor's chandelier. Grandma Piper visits Vera Manor. Parker returns as the evil Portender. Harry uses his simulation crystal, preparing both sets of Charmed Ones for a battle to the finish at Vera Manor. Macy, age 55, gives Abigael's eulogy as Wyatt & Matilda contemplate marriage. (*MMV: Matilda; HMV: Hacy; MMW: Matilda/Wyatt; TFB: Crossover)
Relationships: Harry Greenwood & Macy Vaughn, Harry Greenwood/Macy Vaughn, Macy Vaughn & Maggie Vera & Mel Vera & Original Female Character(s), Phoebe Halliwell & Piper Halliwell & Paige Matthews, Piper Halliwell/Leo Wyatt
Series: The Tessera Tales [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1853758
Kudos: 9





	1. MMV: The Scarlet Reckoning

1 MMV: The Scarlet Reckoning

_“Daddy, if one of them is a boy and his name is Henry, he belongs in the second bedroom. If the other is a girl and her name is Matilda, the third bedroom is hers; she likes fire.”_

_–Maya Madalena Valensi, age 3 re: her future twin siblings, “Of Ginger & Spice,” Ch. 28: HM2V: The Spiral Staircase_

_8 pm GMT/Noon PDT, Tessera Nightclub, Manchester, England_

Upscale waitressing was a wonderful way to build one’s character, make a name for oneself in the magical realm, and boost the bank account. _At least, that’s what her father reminded her each evening in his British accent, before she portaled to the nightclub from the second floor of her mother’s Vera Manor Garden laboratory._

_Black cravat: check. Pleated white silk shirt: check. Black sleeveless vest: check. Black silk slacks: check._

Twenty-one-year-old Matilda Valensi strode the nightclub’s perimeter purposefully, her trimmed fingernails poised _just_ so above the pen and pad of paper peeking out of her hip pocket, her curly auburn hair tied in a high ponytail; she had inherited her mother’s distinctive Afro-Caribbean cheekbones and her European father’s cream-colored complexion.

Teak serving tray in hand, she examined the metallic light sconces in each corner, all enveloped in flowing plum-colored floor-to-ceiling drapery as far as the eye could see, much of which had remained the same throughout the past century, according to her all-knowing, preternaturally young father. Weaving her slight fingers through the dangling rose quartz crystals, she listened for their delicate mellifluous fairy-like chime. _She knew those gemstones like the back of her hand._

The saxophones’ brassy, booming timbre echoed throughout the crowded nightclub, its Gatsbian patrons dressed to the nines; the ancient ivory and ebony piano keys plinked as a pair of finely-gloved hands hammered forth from the bottommost clef to the very treble. The bass performed, the familiar rhythmic thrum of metal-worn strings vibrating across the stage, as Matilda detected the familiar scent of floral jasmine notes intermingled with Boswellian frankincense and Tamil patchouli.

_8:40 pm GMT/12:40 pm PDT, Tessera Nightclub, Manchester, England_

Out of the corner of her eye, Matilda observed a leering middle-aged man and his friends, all in nondescript uniforms, exchange their quid for a house special, the “Salem Witch Cocktail” (club soda, melon liqueur, lime juice, grenadine, and several shots of mystery liquer), continually whispering what seemed to be lurid, unseemly remarks at the female bartender, whose porcelain countenance began to turn a deep puce.

Ducking under the bar table’s barrier, she sidled up to Nancy, glaring at each of the leering men in turn, none of whom appeared sorry in the least. Matilda’s faux diamond studs kept her flame-throwing capacity at bay, but her temper began to flare, seeing how poorly her friend was being treated. “Eh, Billy,” shouted one coarsely. “’ow’s the daily offerin’?”

“Assets _aplenty_ ,” another shouted, and her fists clenched.

The men seemed temporarily chastened with a quick glare of her flashing red eyes, but one man in particular continued to rankle Matilda’s shackles. As he grew increasingly inebriated, his pawing continued, a burly arm on the countertop winding its way toward her own behind while, preoccupied, she took orders from two other clients; she shrieked in pain and whipped around, flushing with anger as the men roared and jeered. _Oh no he didn’t,_ she thought to herself, incensed with rage.

She removed her stud earrings, placing them in the bottom of her pants pocket. _No more Miss Nice Girl_ , she decided. _Enough was enough_ , as she felt a sudden heady surge of adrenaline course through her veins, winding its way through her upper arms, past her elbows, her slender wrists, and finally to her nimble fingers, which began to sparkle and crackle as she began snapping them against the vintage bar’s tabletop.

_Flames._

_Delicious liquid crystalline ruby-amber flames._

_Flames on the side of her face._

_9:15 pm GMT/1:15 pm PDT, Tessera Nightclub, Manchester, England_

For as long as she could remember, Matilda had always had an affinity toward fire. She had aced the ‘candle and air’ portion of her father’s Montessori diagnostic test as a three-year-old, and before she was even born, her Epicenter Pico No. 23 Azores bedroom had been outfitted with fireproof glass windows and a flame-retardant balcony for the moments her temper got the better of her.

_Which it often did._

She never meant to cause trouble, but somehow, glancing at the lurid spectacle before her, with dark purple draperies ablaze, formerly snobby clientele fearfully ducking for cover, rose quartz crystals askew, table linens smoldering, and the leering men’s clothes turned to ashes, she knew she had a particular knack for attracting trouble.

 _Valensi, Party of Five,_ her father proudly announced whenever he took the family to Tessera Nightclub, showcasing where he and her mother had met, back when they were Jimmy and Darcy during WWII.

She surveyed the surrounding chaos and sighed. _Matilda, Child of Fire._

_9:30 pm GMT/1:30 pm PDT, Vera Manor Kitchen_

“Any aces?” Macy asked, playfully poking her younger sister in the ribs. _Double date night was well underway, with a boring-yet-wonderfully domestic game of Go Fish._ Sweeping her curls from her visage, she glanced over at Harry and Jordan, whose cards remained well-hidden from view.

“Go Fish,” Maggie responded, then gasped aloud. Her face froze as she fell off her chair onto the linoleum floor.

“Maggie!” Macy watched in horror as Jordan and Harry sprang to their feet, initiating magical and mortal first aid treatment. Maggie remained still for an agonizing few seconds, after which she blinked and shakily rose to her feet with the help of three.

“What did you see?” Harry anxiously asked.

“Fire _—at Tessera Nightclub,”_ Maggie whispered, her eyes wide with mounting unease.

 _“Matilda,”_ breathed Macy and Harry, exchanging looks.

“Not again,” Macy groaned, as she picked up the playing cards that had scattered off the kitchen table to the floor below.

“I’ll go this time,” Harry rose and orbed out immediately before Macy could protest.

_10:30 pm GMT/2:30 pm PDT, Vera Manor, Living Room_

“Your father could have had a _coronary_!” Macy was screaming at the defiant figure seated in front of her atop the velveteen couch.

“Isn’t he immortal?” inquired Matilda, instantly realizing she had said the wrong thing, as Macy flushed a darker red than Matilda thought possible, taking larger and considerably louder inhalations, readying herself to execute yet another stern lecturing upon her youngest ( _and most challenging_ , if she were honest with herself) daughter.

“That’s beside the point!” responded Macy sharply. “Once again, your father’s orbed to Tessera Nightclub to do a large-scale memory wipe of two hundred people. _Two hundred!_ ” she shrieked. Macy paced back and forth on the living room carpet, gesticulating wildly. “Immortal or not, his soul isn’t getting any younger—what if you’d put someone in a coma? _Accidentally killed someone? Wound up in jail? What if he hadn’t been home?_ ” She attempted a few deep-breathing exercises that Maggie had taught her some years back, but nothing had ever really prepared her for a red-headed daughter whose pyromania would regularly land her in trouble in the magical community.

“But _Mom,_ you and dad are always at Vera Manor—or at Epicenter Pico—” Matilda interjected. “And for the record, a creep grabbed my ass from behind—”

“I don’t _care_ what happened— _wait till your father gets home,”_ hissed Macy.

_3 pm PDT/11 pm GMT, Vera Manor, Living Room_

Harry arrived home within the hour, collapsing on the empty sofa across from his daughter, utterly exhausted.

Macy ran for an ice-cold compress which she placed on Harry’s forehead. “Better?” she whispered.

“ _Much,”_ Harry croaked in response. He remained silent as Macy quickly filled him in on the details of her exchange with Matilda in the past thirty minutes, as he nodded gravely. With some difficulty, he rose to a sitting position. “Let me speak with Tilly alone, love,” he murmured in Macy’s ear, and she reluctantly assented, leaving the father and daughter alone to chat in the curtained Victorian room.

_3:05 pm, Vera Manor, Living Room_

“Dad, the creep tried to grab me—Nancy can vouch for me, _I swear—_ ” But Harry put up his hand firmly.

“No, Tilly, I don’t want to hear it.” He sighed. _Much as he loved his youngest daughter, he couldn’t let her most recent infraction go unchecked. “_ Tilly, Tilly, _Tilly,_ you’ll be the death of me,” he wryly mused, half to himself. “Just because you have the privileged ability to create fire, doesn’t mean you can use it whenever you want. _Even,”_ he added, “if you’re faced with creeps. Self defense is one thing, using disproportionate force is something entirely different, and altogether inappropriate. Tilly,” he stared down at his lap, then gave Matilda a piercing look, painfully aware that his slacks smelled of burned tablecloth, aged bourbon, and scorched drapery. “Tessera Nightclub has been part of your mum’s and my history for a century—back when we were Jimmy and Darcy—till now.”

Matilda rolled her eyes. _Here we go again,_ she thought to herself cynically. Mom and dad meet, date while penniless, he rescues Matias, Matias becomes Grandpa, Morgana enters the picture, mom has three kids, all of whom they expect to be just as perfect as them both. Her older sister Maya took after Macy, Columbia Ph.D., corkscrew curls and all. Matilda’s twin brother Henry ( _older than her by a few seconds_ ) resembled his father Harry, earnest and placid in personality. Henry was off at a writer’s retreat and about to complete his final year at Middlebury as a Phi Beta Kappa philosophy major.

The only curly-haired redhead in the family (besides Morgana, who wasn’t a blood relation), Matilda herself was at a top school, with excellent grades in sociology after dropping pre-med studies; yet, she couldn’t help but feel a certain degree of inferiority. _Everyone, it seemed, was absolutely, infuriatingly, annoyingly perfect._

She hated disappointing her sweet, gentle father, time and time again; a tear trickled down her freckled cheek. _Once more, she managed to make a mess of her life_. “Dad—” she whispered. “I’m sorry. _I really, really am._ What’s the verdict this time?” Harry moved to sit next to her.

“Tessera Nightclub’s agreed not to press charges— _this time, at least,_ ” specified Harry, as Matilda breathed a sigh of relief. _Vindication_. “But your mum and I need to think things through and come up with a plan of action. Meet us here straightaway at seven tonight.”

_7 pm, Vera Manor, Living Room_

Once more, Matilda found herself summoned to the Vera Manor living room. Nothing good ever happened there. She recalled having doctor’s visits on the velveteen couch, annual dental reviews of her teeth, and most recently, the family announcement that Morgana had suddenly vanished from where she had been last spotted in Oslo, Norway, after attempting to assist in a succubus birth.

_It had been two long weeks, and Morgana not been found yet._

She was the only woman in the family Matilda identified with, even though there was no specified blood relation. The curly red hair, their mutual stubborn streak, their tendency to speak their mind, even if it landed them in hot water (or in Morgana’s case, a decades-long _mostly_ amicable separation from ex-husband Matias, which slowly thawed with Maya’s birth). _The only one who really understood me,_ Matilda thought to herself. _The only one who thought I wasn’t the crazy black sheep of the family._

Matilda stared across the table at her parents. “So…uh…what’s the plan?”

Harry twiddled his thumbs and cleared his throat, glancing uncomfortably over at Macy, who rolled her eyes. _Do I really have to be the bad guy here?_ Macy seemed to say. “Matilda,” she began, “ _first things first—_ earrings on. _Now_.” Matilda grumbled to herself as she dug into her pants pocket for the faux diamond stud earrings, which she placed on both ears. Satisfied, Macy continued. “As penance ( _or punishment_ ), you’re doing community service—”

“Oh, like, sorting library books or volunteering at the YMCA?” _Yawn,_ Matilda thought to herself.

Harry shook his head. “Tilly, _love_ , your mum and I—we—” he paused for half a second, then continued. “We sent in an application on your behalf. You’ve been accepted as a college-age junior division counselor at a new summer camp for magical kids—Camp Wanaka. The first of its kind in the country.”

 _Camp Wanaka?_ Matilda had never heard of a “Camp Wanaka.” “So, uh, where _exactly_ is this ‘Camp Wanaka?’” she asked skeptically.

“It’s located deep within the Southern Alps of New Zealand—and the camp term is a total of eight weeks,” Harry chimed in. “It’s a real resume-booster for sure—”

 _New Zealand? I knew I was out of line, but damn this was cold, even for them._ “Are you both trying to get rid of me or something? Like, lock me away?”

“NO!” exclaimed Macy. “I-I mean, _no_.” She regarded her youngest with a mixture of bittersweet frustration and bemusement. “Your grades and fire skills qualified you. I think it’s a great opportunity—a chance to get away for a bit and see if you can channel your pyrotechnic abilities for the greater good.”

“But—” Matilda tried to look for a loophole. “Don’t you need a J1 camp visa with my signature and approval?”

Harry chuckled. “No, it’s the other way around, and all you need is a Working Holiday Visa, and a show of funds indicating you have enough to leave the country when it comes time. _Nice try._ Tilly,” he bent forward past the coffee table and clasped her hand in his. “I think this will be an amazing chance to see what you’re capable of—besides making restitution to magical society. Can you try it— _and do it for me_?”

Matilda fixed on her dad’s sympathetic eyes, blinking away tears, and slowly nodded. _She didn’t have it in her heart to disappoint him. Not this time—not again—not so soon._

_8 pm PDT/3 am GMT+12, Two Nights Later, Vera Manor, Living Room_

Matilda was fully packed for her New Zealand adventure, which was to begin in several short hours when she would orb to the campsite directly alongside her father.

“What’ll you guys do when I’m gone?” she couldn’t help but ask.

Macy and Harry glanced at each other, then back at their youngest. “We’re going to Norway for the next eight weeks,” admitted Macy, not without trepidation.

“ _Oslo_ , to be precise,” interjected Harry. “Your mum’s giving a presentation at the University of Oslo on her latest Grecian Hypnos research, but we have, dare I say… _ulterior motives_.”

“ _Morgana?”_ breathed Matilda. She felt a sudden surge of hope. So they _were_ looking for her? They nodded.

“Morgana was last seen at an Oslo bookstore, which isn’t much to go by as the scrying crystals failed—she’d made herself untraceable decades ago for her own safety—but this is our best possible chance. Which is why I— _I mean_ —” Macy glanced at Harry,”— _we_ —worried about whether you’d be ok if we weren’t around.”

 _That made sense_ , realized Matilda. And perhaps, getting fresh air far away from the grey skies of Seattle and Manchester would do her some good. As a child, she had loved glamping in the backyard (“glamour camping”), which involved playing board games and sipping her dad’s home-brewed peppermint iced tea, as well as baking hot dogs, and roasting s’mores with her siblings, using the fire she set herself. This would be followed by an animated movie via projector under the trellised tealights, surrounded by the lemon scent of mosquito-repellant candles ( _and her mother Macy’s latest coffee-infused concoction, come morning_ ).

Maybe, just _maybe_ , helping magical children experience arts camp near a scenic lake would help her become a more compassionate person. _She’d spend her days being one with nature, channeling her fire power for good._

_1 am PDT/8 pm GMT+12, Vera Manor, Living Room_

Their farewells commenced as the hour of Matilda’s departure approached.

“Why don’t you find someone to date while you’re there, sweetie? A friend? _Coworker_?” Macy raised a gentle eyebrow over at her redheaded daughter, who shook her head vigorously.

“ _No,_ mom,” Matilda archly responded. “I’m better off alone. Besides, my fire power could hurt someone in the wrong situation.”

Macy sighed. “ _As you wish.”_ As if reading her daughter’s mind, she remarked casually, “you’d be less likely to injure someone there since they’d have their own powers. Assuming you wear your earrings to dampen the fire effect, of course.” She went on. “Never, _ever_ remove your earrings unless you are in dire mortal danger. _Do you understand me?_ ”

Matilda almost made as if to object, or posit a hypothetical situation, then realized her mother was dead serious. “Yes,” she muttered. Then a weird thought occurred to her. “Mom, are you gonna put a sensor on my earrings?

“No, dear,” Macy’s eyes softened. “Much as I really, _really_ want to, it was your father’s idea that we present you this opportunity to start fresh. Also,” Macy whispered in her daughter’s ear conspiratorially, “in case you change your mind about the whole dating thing, I slipped a few condoms in the side pocket of your luggage—”

“ _Ewwww_ , Mom! _”_ Matilda groaned aloud, positively repulsed.

Macy waved her hands about in resignation. “ _Just saying—_ is all!”

Matilda sighed. “Ok—thanks, I guess…?” She looked above her mother’s head to the Vera Manor staircase, which her father was descending that very moment. “I guess it’s time…stay safe in Oslo—hope your talk goes well—and that you find—” words failed her in that moment, but Macy understood what was unsaid.

“We’ll do our very best—which is all anyone can do,” murmured Macy, gathering her daughter in her arms for a hug. “I love you _so_ much, sweetie. Stay safe, learn lots, and keep a cool head on those shoulders, _mmkay_?”

“Will do. _Love you too_ ,” Matilda responded, then broke the hug to grasp Harry’s arm, waving goodbye as they orbed across the hemisphere to Camp Wanaka in the Southern Alps of New Zealand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by YouTube video Zedd & Kehlani “Good Thing” (Official Music Video) at 2:56
> 
> Note: I debated whether to post this to AO3. Decided to in the end; even if it's pure unadulterated domestic vacation summer camp fluff, it's become a passion project of sorts :)


	2. MMV: Chaos at Magic Camp

2 MMV: Chaos at Magic Camp

_“I step on you to sip on fire/I got this feeling that I can’t go back/…I gave so much to feel you rush/And in that rush, I want your touch…”_

_–Gin Wigmore,_ _song "New Rush"_

_1 am PDT/8 pm GMT+12, Vera Manor, Living Room_

“ _Love you too_ ,” Matilda responded, then broke the hug to grasp Harry’s arm, waving goodbye as they orbed across the hemisphere to Camp Wanaka in the Southern Alps of New Zealand.

_9 pm GMT+12, Camp Wanaka, Cottage Bedroom_

_She was finally alone in her dorm—or was it “cottage?_ ” Seconds after she and her father arrived at Camp Wanaka’s door, two smiling counselors stepped forward to welcome them with a garland about the neck, reminding Matilda of tropical leis. Hers was a peach-apricot color whose scent reminded her of a mix of gardenias and plumerias; Harry’s was made entirely of silver fern interwoven together—the symbol of New Zealand’s national identity since the 1880s. Matilda’s luggage had been enchanted to disappear from where they stood, then reappear in the room she would be staying in for the next several weeks.

The counselors bade them follow; a mere 200 feet from the lake itself, the camp boasted of breathtaking waterfront patio views of Lake Hawea and the surrounding Gladstone snow-capped mountains, in addition to a state-of-the-art open-air amphitheater for concerts, quaint flat-roofed one-story white cabins for the campers and separate similarly-sized cottages for junior counselors, a myriad of bohemian-chic waterproof canvas tents, and a set of micro-chic 500 square foot “tiny house” cabins with a desk, kitchen, and second floor loft via ladder, that reminded Matilda of her mother’s Vera Manor laboratory ( _or “she-shed” as Macy affectionately called it)._ “Those micro-chic facilities are for returning counselors, who have certain seniority privileges,” explained one of the two counselors, an older-yet-peppy witch named Paige, who had porcelain skin and dark auburn hair and claimed to have been a 1990s TV star back in the day.

Matilda retrieved her phone as if to take a picture, but instead checked the camp’s accommodations website online, which corroborated what Paige said, though it also mentioned that the lofted tiny houses lacked bathrooms and that hot showers were only accessible from the director’s cabin. _Lovely_ , she thought, rolling her eyes.

 _Still, all things considered_ , Matilda mused to herself, staring at the ceiling from where she lay on her twin-size bed, _the digs were pretty sweet._ She looked past her fragrant flower wreath draped across the oaken nightstand, to the tiny kitchen ( _she could make scrambled eggs if she wanted_ ), a bathroom with modern plumbing ( _thank God),_ clean bath towels that didn’t reek of swamp monster _(yet)_ , and coffee and tea were provided for free. Requested staples ( _eggs, cheese, apples, carrot sticks, etc.)_ were already stocked in the mini fridge, along with condiments, spices, and other seasonings in the cabinet above, which had a couple of pots and pans, a teakettle, and some stainless steel utensils and recyclable paper cups.

_Being a junior camp counselor wouldn’t be too crazy—right?_

Paige mentioned earlier that the camp grew its own fruits and vegetables, so Matilda wouldn’t go vitamin deficient anytime soon ( _one of the first questions Harry asked the counselors before returning to Vera Manor_ ). Plus, there was free WiFi; on her phone, Matilda played “April Sun in Cuba” by Dragon, a New Zealand Band. This rebellious 1977 hit song had been banned for decades in the U.S. due to its references to the Cuban Missile Crisis, its lyrics beginning: “ _I’m tired of the city life/Summer’s on the run_ …” as she drifted off to sleep, the sound of croaking bullfrogs and humming cicadas lingering in the distance.

_6 am, Next Morning, Camp Wanaka, Cottage Bedroom_

The piercing sound of early morning trumpet taps jolted Matilda out of her slumber, as she groggily stumbled to her feet. She hurriedly showered and scarfed down a meal of scrambled eggs and ketchup, then brushed her teeth and put on her gym leggings, a sleeveless sapphire-colored tank top, a scarf, and her black insulated jogging jacket. She had read on her phone that due to the hemispheric location, the seasons were switched; it was currently fifty degrees Fahrenheit.

Fifteen minutes later, she heard a sharp knock on the door and opened it, revealing a clipboard bundle within the plastic pocket-like shelving nailed to the front door. The bundle turned out to be the itinerary, campground map, and scheduling of various activities she was to report to for the day, and weeks to follow (subject to weather constraints). Apparently, her junior division counselor duties involved being both “gopher” and “guinea pig,” scoping out hiking routes ahead of time, and testing well-worn paths for safety with a “division partner”—a fellow counselor with more years of experience.

 _Who was my division partner?_ Matilda wondered, glancing to the left and right outside her door. She reread the clipboard packet. _Oddly enough, it didn’t say._ And apparently, junior division counselors were not allowed to interact much with the kids—only if they were “ _in disciplinary trouble or bleeding_.” _How strange_ , she thought to herself. _Perhaps it was so campers could independently test their magic, find new friends, and grow their confidence in the process, after having experienced lonely lives as strange children with unusual powers._

Matilda stepped back inside her cottage and closed the door behind her. The first activity of the day was the 7 am “Activities Run” at the tennis court a mile away. She was expected to report to the location ten minutes early. Figuring she had nothing better to do in the remaining time, she laced up her sneakers and went for a morning jog in that general direction.

_6:50 am, Camp Wanaka, Tennis Court_

After an invigorating jog that took her past the lakefront’s perimeter, Matilda strode up to the tennis court, clipboard in hand, fully expecting to be assigned to her division partner. _Strength in numbers, right?_

The song “New Rush” by Gin Wigmore blasted from the loudspeakers above as she wormed her way into the now-crowded tennis court, finding herself surrounded by kids a full head shorter than her, _and then some_. The director paused the song to briefly explain the rules of the “Activities Run” exercise. All the kids, in the next five minutes, were to run to the counselor of the arts activity they wanted to pursue; each counselor was situated along different parts of the court’s perimeter, poster board signs in hand. _What the hell? Isn’t this usually decided beforehand by helicopter parents?_ Matilda couldn’t help but feel a rising sense of unease as she gazed across the throng of magical kids, some of whom no doubt were debating the best method of flying, traipsing, vanishing, orbing, or transfiguring to meet their heady goal.

“Five minutes, starting _……NOW!”_ The director blew the whistle, and the Gin Wigmore song boomed from the loudspeakers once more.

_7:01 am, Camp Wanaka, Tennis Court, Activities Run_

Matilda gaped at the scene unfolding before her very eyes.

_It was absolute, pure, unadulterated chaos._

She ducked as she spotted one blue mohawked boy jump twenty feet up in the air, landing with a sharp _thunk_ onto the unlucky counselor holding a now-crumpled poster board. Matilda winced. She wondered whether she ought to risk life and limb by hurtling herself through the crowd to the counselor, but noticed a pair ( _junior and division counselors,_ she guessed), immediately coming to his aid with bandages and magical prowess.

_Where on earth was her division partner?_

She’d arrived on time and tapped the shoulder of the counselor she recognized from yesterday, though she’d forgotten the name. “Excuse me,” she began, “who’s my division partner?”

“It’s _your_ job to figure out who,” and the counselor made as though to depart, but Matilda raced and intercepted the person’s path.

“Wait—how am _I_ supposed to know who?” Matilda asked incredulously, but the person smiled.

“You’re magic, aren’t you? Figure it out,” the counselor responded slyly, then vanished into thin air.

 _Oh for the love of…_ Matilda inwardly groaned. This was _not_ how she envisioned her first day at magic camp.

_7:04 am, Camp Wanaka, Tennis Court, Activities Run to Camp Infirmary_

A couple more minutes of shrieks, screams, and utter insanity transpired as campers morphed into sparrows, rats, and kangaroos, pummeling themselves through the dense crowds. As more and more kids arrived at their chosen arts section, the amount of people within the main area of the tennis court lessened considerably, though one student had accidentally turned himself into an elephant, and was trampling about, trumpeting its alarm as it tore a path through the netting, shaking its trunk this way and that, right into the path of a hysterically sobbing middle school-aged girl, who was unable to move from her position in the middle of the floor. Without thinking, Matilda dashed forward to grab the girl, yanking her out of the way just in the nick of time.

At that moment, she felt a sudden _tug_ and found herself and the girl yanked from their tennis court surroundings, which melted away into what appeared to be the camp’s infirmary. Matilda realized that someone was holding them both—and, startled, found herself eye-to-eye with a beach-blond surfer dude type who she could only assume was her division partner.

_7:10 am, Camp Wanaka, Camp Infirmary_

After calming the frightened girl down, Matilda watched as the guy surveyed the girl’s leg, palpating her skin, checking for internal bleeding or other outward sign of injury. “Can you put your weight on it?” he asked aloud. The girl wiped her tears with tissues Matilda had in her outstretched hand, and made as if to stand, but collapsed back in her seat, grimacing. The guy flagged over a woman Matilda assumed must be the nurse in charge, who ran her hands over the injury. She gathered a poultice from a nearby cabinet and laid it on the tender area, recommending aloud that the girl rest on one of the available cots for an hour.

The guy with the beach blond-highlighted hair made as if to walk out the infirmary’s front door and Matilda, unsure of what to do, followed after him. “Are you…” she asked somewhat uncertainly, “my division partner?”

He turned around and faced her straightaway, his mouth twitching into a cheeky grin. “Never thought you’d ask.” He offered his hand, and after a brief moment, Matilda reached out and shook it. _For a tall, muscular man, he sure had a gentle grip,_ Matilda realized, having initially expected to be enveloped in a bone-crushing handshake _._ She then remonstrated herself. _Snap out of it, Valensi! He’s probably taken, or a jackass, or both._

“What’s your name?” she finally asked, as they exited the infirmary’s front garden and proceeded to walk through the grass in the direction of the waterfront gazebo.

“Wyatt Halliwell, Junior,” he answered. “And you’re--?”

“Matilda Valensi,” she replied.

“ _Ah,_ the child of a current Charmed One,” Wyatt remarked aloud. “Wow—I _knew_ there was a reason we were paired up!” he exclaimed. “Wyatt: world guardian,” he pointed to himself, “Matilda: battle-mighty,” he added, pointing to Matilda. “We’re gonna be pretty formidable,” he grinned.

“Wait—so how _exactly_ does this whole pair thing work?” asked Matilda, thoroughly confused at this point. “I got here yesterday, and thought we’d be given more…” she bit her lip, trying to pinpoint the exact word for this odd situation, not to mention that Wyatt already seemed to know her family status, and she’d barely met the guy.

“… _Guidance_?” Wyatt asked. Matilda nodded. “Yeah, the folks in charge have a literal hands-off approach when it comes to magic kids. They want kids to explore their powers in a healthy setting, and meet other magic kids, since they’ve mostly been raised in a non-magic world where they were forced to hide their abilities.”

“ _Wow_ ,” breathed Matilda. She hadn’t realized that there were still families out there that tried to suppress and outwardly deny mystic power, even when it stared them in the face. “Poor things.”

“Yeah,” said Wyatt sympathetically, as they drew closer to the gazebo. “Most of the campers here, for all their bravado, have actually had a pretty rough go of it.”

“So,” Matilda began as they approached the gazebo, sitting along one of its side benches to plan their next activities for the days ahead, “what did _you_ do to get here?”

“What do you mean?” asked Wyatt, genuinely puzzled. “I’ve gone here since I was a kid—I _chose_ to be here. You didn’t?”

Matilda laughed ruefully. “Um…” she finally shook her head, her bright red curls aflutter in the sunlight that was beginning to peek out from behind the silvery storm clouds above. “ _Not exactly.”_

“Oh, so you’re one of the rebels then?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, though lighthearted.

“Well, long story short, I was waitressing and some drunk creep grabbed my ass and I lost my temper and set everything on fire, and this is my punish— _I mean,”_ she said, backtracking, “—my community service requirement.”

Instead of appearing horrified or judgmental or any manner of expressions, Matilda watched as Wyatt proceeded to laugh aloud for the next several seconds, so hard that he nearly cried. “ _Jesus,_ Valensi. I woulda given anything to see _that._ ”

Matilda twiddled a stray lock of hair. “Yeah, seems you’d be the only one. My parents were horrified—my dad had to memory wipe two hundred customers’ minds.” She looked over at Wyatt, who still appeared rather impressed. “I’ve had this… _fire_ …thing since as long as I could remember, and I’ve had trouble controlling it when I lose my temper—which used to be pretty often—and the Whitelighter orbing you did earlier, that was pretty useful—I’m trying to figure out how to use my fire for good—” she knew she was beginning to ramble.

“You know what I think, Valensi? _Val?_ ” his expression softened. “I think you’ve come to the right place.” And with that, the two eagerly began to discuss the upcoming pilot testing of various planned excursions.

 _Maybe, just maybe,_ thought Matilda, eyeing Wyatt’s broad musculature and lopsided smile, _this summer wouldn’t be so bad after all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by New Zealand singer Gin Wigmore, and her song "New Rush"


	3. HMV: Velkommen til Norge

3 HMV: Velkommen til Norge

_“Klokken tikker og tiden går/Men alt står stille her nå…/Sammen kan vi være perfekt uperfekt/Verden e det vi gjør den til”_

_Translation: “The clock is ticking and time is passing/But everything is standing still here now…/Together we can be perfectly imperfect/The world is what we make it”_

_–Stina Talling, song “BlimE (Mer Enn God Nok)”_

_2 am PDT, Vera Manor, Macy’s Bedroom_

Macy heard a familiar knock at the door, as she placed a bookmark in her “ _Heaven’s Vice”_ romance novel. “Come in!” she called out.

Harry strode in, rather bleary-eyed and wearing what appeared to be a tropical lei. “What’s that?” Macy tilted her head, peering over her reading glasses examining the curious fauna from where she was sitting on the bed.

“Camp Wanaka welcoming committee,” he answered. “In traditional New Zealand spirit, of course. Our daughter’s settled in, and the facility seems rather top-notch, _if I do say so myself_ ,” he added, removing the garland and placing it atop the wooden dresser.

“That’s good,” murmured Macy. “As for Oslo—”

“I have all our bags in the bedroom closet,” Harry pointed to the location, mere feet away. “What time are we expected there, love?”

Macy hesitated, “in two days’ time, 6 pm sharp for the faculty dinner, if I remember correctly, speaking of which—” she reached over to her nightstand drawer and pulled out two round-trip tickets. “We’ll be needing these. Our flight leaves 2:20 pm from Sea-Tac Airport tomorrow, which means we have to leave here 11 am to brave the lines—”

“But _love,_ ” Harry said, almost pleadingly. “I’m a Whitelighter, remember? I can get us there and back within milliseconds, we can leave on the day of—”

“NO,” said Macy with a certain degree of sternness. “The university committee is rolling out the red carpet for us, and offered us really nice business class seats—it’d be rude to refuse, don’t you think?”

“But _Macy_ ,” Harry beseeched. “Do we _have_ to? The last time I was on a flight was back in 1943, when I was strapped to a parachute atop the _Handley Page No. 52 Hampden_ aircraft, Napier Daggers and all. Being a radio operator was quite stressful, and the pilot was an _absolute_ dunce—”

“Sweetie, all the more reason,” Macy replied decisively. “ _Besides_ , it’ll look suspicious if we show up having bypassed customs for a summer sabbatical, and we’d definitely be injuring American-Norwegian diplomatic relations if we didn’t take them up on their generous offer. You can orb Morgana to the Azores if and when the time comes—she’s a powerful witch and something tells me she’s ok.”

Macy paused. “Plus, I think there’s something to be said about going on a transatlantic _—_ and dare I say _—romantic_ , thrilling adventure as a couple. I think it’d be really good for us, to embrace the journey too.” Harry’s eyes softened as he sat next to Macy, ruminating on her words.

“So how about it, Harry? I hear Lufthansa’s business class has fancy seats that turn into beds…” she trailed off, peering up expectantly.

“Oh, really?” asked Harry. Despite his reservations at putting aside his Whitelighter orbing abilities, he was nevertheless intrigued by the thought of a comfortable bed 31,000 feet above the earth, besides the importance of maintaining appearances and rekindling romance in one’s married life. “My, how fascinating! Technology has _certainly_ advanced considerably…”

Macy grinned. “So, is that a yes?”

Harry sighed, realizing he’d been bested, and bent forward to kiss his wife. “Dr. Valensi, it’s most certainly a _yes_.”

_Noon, Next Day, Sea-Tac Airport, Queuing_

Harry checked his timepiece and surveyed the line in front of him— _nearly one hundred people by the looks of it_ —all queuing up in front of large cylindrical machines that reminded him of science fiction TV advertisements. “Macy, love,” he whispered anxiously in his ear, pointing at the large machinery. “What is _that?”_

“Security measures,” Macy gave him a strange look, then realized that Harry hadn’t been to the insides of an airport in decades. “Um…sweetie, things’ve changed a lot since you last flew—”

“ _Clearly_ ,” Harry replied, as they inched forward. The one bright spot was the automatic ticketing line earlier, where they dropped off their luggage to be picked up at their destination, and the silent thrill Harry had when the front desk assistant scanned their IDs and wished “Dr. and Mr. Valensi safe and happy travels.” _Dr. and Mr. Valensi._ It almost seemed like it was yesterday he was waiting at the front of the aisle at Vera Manor Garden for his blushing bride, her diaphanous gown draped over the blossoming bump that eventually became their firstborn, Maya.

_1 pm, Sea-Tac Airport, Hallway_

The crowds upon crowds of people were beginning to make Harry perspire, as he pulled uncomfortably at his heavily-starched linen shirt collar. He hadn’t realized how popular air travel had become, nor had he realized just how enormous the airport was. They had passed at least ten separate gates within a specific subdivision of the building, taken two moving walkways, and they _still_ hadn’t arrived at their listed terminal. “Mace, are we there yet?” he complained, as they took a third moving walkway past a row of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking accordion-shaped halls connecting terminals to their airplanes. “Can’t I just duck into a corner,” he pointed to a shadowed portion of a side hallway, “and orb us a bit?”

Macy shook her head. “Just a bit further,” she responded, wondering, not for the first time that day, whether it would’ve been easier for her sanity to have Harry orb there while she traveled the length of the terminal in peace. _Alas, hindsight was 20/20._

_1:20 pm, Sea-Tac Airport, Terminal Seating Area_

They finally arrived at the terminal seating area; according to the signage, the flight would commence boarding at 1:45. “Love, I might go grab a bottle of water from the shop,” Harry said, pointing to the newspaper shop a few paces away.

“Ok,” responded Macy, “but don’t wander off for too long—they’re boarding on time, with or without us.”

“Roger that,” Harry responded, kissing Macy and proceeding toward the brightly-lit shop.

_1:35 pm, Sea-Tac Airport, Terminal Seating Area_

Macy checked her phone. _Boarding would start in ten minutes—where on earth was her husband?_ As if in answer, Harry appeared, two bottles of water in hand, one for himself and the other for his wife. “How could they sell two bottles of water for eight dollars each?” he exclaimed indignantly. “And trail mix for ten dollars? It’s highway robbery!”

“ _Dear,_ ” Macy responded, fighting the urge to laugh, “this is how airports make money. That’s why,” she unzipped her large purse, “I always bring my own thermos, fresh fruit, cookies, trail mix, and teabags. Biscuit?” Macy offered Harry one of his favorite teatime cookies, and he grinned.

“What on _earth_ would I do without you, love?” he asked, between bites of the buttery shortbread. Macy grinned, finding the scenario unfolding in front of her rather amusing.

_4 pm, Lufthansa LH 491, Airbus A340, Business Class_

Macy retrieved her “ _Heaven’s Vice”_ romance novel from her purse and began to read from where she last left off; Harry was busy admiring the spacious seating, the modern amenities (USB outlets, on-demand video and music entertainment), and the free snacks and drinks offered by the attentive stewardesses. He looked over, skimming the title of Macy’s novel; he nearly made a face, but restrained himself, conscious of the fact that Macy had patiently put up with his childish antics for the past few hours. _It was the least he could do_ , he figured, _letting her have her romantic fantasies of this, that, and the other buff angel permeating her dreams as of late._ He could have sworn he heard her murmur “Oh, _Gideon_ ,” the night before. _Would it were him instead,_ he silently lamented. _Perhaps this trip to Norway could act as a later-in-life honeymoon of sorts?_

_5 pm/2 am GMT+2, Lufthansa LH 491, Airbus A340, Business Class_

Harry decided to review his Norwegian language guidebook for the time being, though he recalled his wife telling him earlier in the week that 68% of Norwegians spoke English, and that in the city of Oslo, 100% of its inhabitants had full comprehension of the language. He plugged in his earbuds and turned the in-flight entertainment to the music video channel, where a Norwegian singer named Stina Talling belted out an optimistic, upbeat song entitled _“BlimE (Mer Enn God Nok)_. _”_ According to the pop star’s interview that followed, its pure-hearted lyrics spoke of optimism, being “together, perfectly imperfect,” and that the world was one’s oyster. Parents often sang the song with their kids when driving them to school, apparently. _How sweet_ , he smiled, thinking of Maya, Henry, and Matilda’s childhood growing up together in Vera Manor and at Epicenter Pico No. 23 in the Azores Islands.

_7 pm/4 am GMT+2, Lufthansa LH 491, Airbus A340, Business Class_

Dinner arrived on elegant ceramic dishware, consisting of a small loaf of grain bread, cold pickled Nordic vegetables, and slices of butterflied chicken in a brown stewed sauce covered in a layer of lentils. There was a small side of fruit—pineapples and a smattering of blueberries, with utensils and a cloth napkin in a paper seal. _Fancy_ , Harry thought to himself as he and Macy tucked into their respective meals, she with her small glass of ginger ale, and him with a cup of piping Earl Grey tea, which to his delight was provided to him free of charge ( _unlike the kiosk shop earlier in SeaTac_ ).

The couple enjoyed a small after-dinner drink amongst themselves, a decaf vegan Irish coffee. _Who knew there was such a thing?_ Harry mused to himself as he stirred the almond milk-based whipped cream, feeding a spoonful to Macy, whose tongue lapped up the frothy substance, her eyes meeting his in a saucy, almost _seductive_ manner, if he didn’t know any better. Her dairy allergy often meant that they were unable to share their favorite drinks—as couples would often do. _It really was the little things, after all,_ Harry smiled to himself as he stroked Macy’s curls sometime later, as they gazed out the airplane window into the tangerine-flamingo hues of the fast-approaching sunset.

_10 pm/7 am GMT+2, Lufthansa LH 491, Airbus A340, Business Class_

“Guess we should get to sleep,” Macy murmured in Harry’s ear, who agreed. _How exactly did this bed turn-down service work?_ he wondered to himself, then found a miniature remote, which flattened his seat, moving it forward in the process. Macy found a remote identical to his in front of her and pressed on the same keypads. _Absolutely brilliant,_ Harry thought to himself, surveying the pocket notebook, facial cream, toothpaste, and toothbrush the airline had provided to each of them when they had first arrived at their seats. The restrooms were private and quite pristine, he observed, as he brushed his teeth alongside Macy.

_6 am/3 pm GMT+2, Lufthansa LH 491, Airbus A340, Business Class_

“Harry— _Harry!_ ” Macy shook her husband until he awoke. “We’ve arrived!” They looked out the window to find the airplane parking in a terminal of Oslo Airport.

“Velkommen til Norge! Welcome to Norway!” the captain announced on the overhead loudspeaker. “Thank you for traveling with Lufthansa, and we hope you have a safe and happy rest of your journey.”

After a quick trip to the restroom to freshen themselves up, brush their teeth, (and in Macy’s case, put on a bit of eyeliner and lipstick), Harry and Macy returned to their seats. In no time at all, the “fasten seatbelt” sign disappeared, and the terminal door opened. _They had arrived at last._

“You know,” remarked Harry casually as they walked out into the adjoining airport, “we _really_ should do this more often.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lufthansa Business Class Research:  
> Dinner: https://albertaviation.com/lufthansa-business-class-oslo-frankfurt-barcelona/  
> Flat Beds: https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.businessinsider.com/lufthansa-business-class-flat-beds-2014-1%3Famp
> 
> Inspired by Norwegian singer Stina Talling and her song “BlimE (Mer Enn God Nok)”


	4. MMV: Taniwha in Albert Town

4 MMV: Taniwha in Albert Town

_“Oh, I got a plan, well you don’t understand/I was alone, all I had was just me and myself/And I did it/And nobody’s been this/Now you want in”_

_–Stan Walker,_ _song "New Takeover"_

_7 am, Week 2, Albert Town Campground, 9382, New Zealand_

The canoe’s weight was causing Matilda’s arms to ache, quiver, and nearly give out, as she staggered about, attempting to follow behind Wyatt’s form uphill, his own canoe deftly hoisted under one arm. _How the hell was he doing that?_ she wondered, feeling as though both of her arms were about to detach from the rest of her body, akin to a Mr. ( _or Mrs._ ) Potato Head figurine toy.

From what she knew of the crimson water-borne weather-resistant object, it was supposed to weight up to 75 pounds, was made of fiberglass and/or aluminum, and was manufactured in the local athletic goods factory two towns over. She considered it a boon to the local economy, but silently wondered whether they couldn’t have added a lightweight charm to make it virtually weightless, so she didn’t have to struggle _nearly_ so much.

Her clipboard was in her waterproof drawstring knapsack, along with a keto-friendly, gluten-free granola bar, her BPA-free water bottle, chopped celery sticks with a tiny container of crunchy peanut butter, and a packet of trail mix. Matilda wondered when they were getting to the more fun aspects of camping—the s’mores, the sing-alongs, the blazing warmth of a fire—then realized all of those activities were largely evening ones in the company of others. As it stood, it was way too early in the day to be conscious, let alone fully-functional, and the only conversation companion she had was a beach-blond surfer lookalike, kind personality notwithstanding.

“Y’alright Val?” Wyatt laid his canoe on the sandy ground and looked behind his shoulder over at Matilda. _Val, his nickname for her due to her last name, Valensi._

“Um—” Matilda began, then suddenly tripped and fell backward. Wyatt orbed behind her to break her fall, catching her canoe in his other hand, as she tumbled into his embrace. Her eyes met his, and for a seemingly infinitesimal moment, their breaths hitched as they felt an unexpected surge of tingling and… _chemistry?_ Matilda yanked herself free of him and dusted off her shorts. “I’m _fine,_ Wyatt,” she stated brusquely, as she traversed the next half meter uphill, which then plateaued to a slow-moving, winding body of azure water.

“Whatever you say, Valensi,” he replied, repressing the urge to roll his eyes at her stubbornness, as he followed her to the edge of the water, secretly admiring her unusual coppery curling tresses that adorned her head and flowed well past her shoulders.

_7:30 am, Albert Town Campground, 9382, New Zealand_

Mid-way through the canoeing expedition, Matilda stood up to admire the scenic view, and shake off a particularly fierce mosquito that had found a way to bite her knee three times in the past few minutes. She removed a flip-flop, making as though to swat at the insect, but the resulting rocking of the boat caused her to lose her footing, as her slipper flew through the air and sank beneath the frigid water. “ _Ugh, fuck me,”_ she grumbled to herself, trying to turn her oar backwards so the handlebar could lift the flip-flop. After several attempts, she gave up.

_7:32 am, Albert Town Campground, 9382, New Zealand_

“Looking for this?” she turned around and saw Wyatt dangling her flip-flop in her direction, inadvertently whacking her in the chest, splashing her with water. “Oh, whoops, _sorry,_ ” he said apologetically, as Matilda glared at him, ripped the slipper off the oar, and put it on her foot once more.

After several quiet minutes, Matilda spoke up. “Why are we scouting this place out, anyways? It seems pretty safe for campers—magical or not—”

Wyatt put up a hand, a signal to remain silent. _He heard something_ , Matilda realized. She looked across her canoe to his in askance. “ _Taniwha_ ,” he whispered, pointing to a fast-bubbling surface of water up ahead.

“Tani- _what_?” asked Matilda. “Is that, like, code for swamp?” Wyatt shook his head.

“ _Taniwha_ , in Maori mythology, is a being that lives in deep river pools in New Zealand,” explained Wyatt. “They’re suppose to be highly respected _kaitiaki_ , or “protective guardians,” of people and places, but sometimes one goes rogue and—” he paused.

“ _And--?”_ asked Matilda. She locked eyes with Wyatt. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Wyatt stared ahead for a few moments, then muttered, “rogue ones sometimes kidnap women to have…as wives.”

“Are you _freaking_ kidding me?” Matilda hissed at Wyatt, trying to keep her voice low enough not to attract the Taniwha’s attention, its neck slowly rising, bearing a strong resemblance to the pictures she’d seen in children’s books of the Loch Ness Monster. _Oh, hell no._ “You lured me here as _monster wedding bait?_ ”

“I was under camp orders, Val—” he replied, regarding Matilda with pleading eyes, “the director wanted to ensure campers were guaranteed safe from accidental digestion—”

“ _Accidental digestion?”_ Matilda’s voice rose up a notch. “Are you _serious?”_

The next several minutes consisted of Wyatt attempting to calm down a now-frantic Matilda. “Look, _Val_ , this is the job we’re trained to do—we have the magical skills, we’re fully qualified—”

“To get _eaten_?”

Wyatt ignored this and pressed onward in the conversation. “Our job is equal parts gopher and guinea pig. This is the gopher part. The camp wanted to expand its activities, but only if it’s safe, environmentally sustainable, and doesn’t create havoc in the indigenous community.”

Matilda felt a tug at her curly hair and brushed it off, but the touching grew more insistent. Thinking she’d come across tree branches, she turned around and found herself face-to-face with the Taniwha.

_Oh shit._

_8 am, Fire Pit near Wanaka Tree, Glendhu Bay, Wanaka 9305, New Zealand_

The last thirty minutes had been a blur. Amid Matilda’s piercing shrieks, Wyatt whacked the sea creature with his oar, causing the Taniwha to release Matilda’s hair it had stuffed in its mouth. Irate about losing its redhaired sea bride, the Taniwha furiously thrashed its amphibious tail about, its bellowing screeches causing the distant pine trees to shake, as flocks of birds scattered into the bleary haze of the early morning sunlight.

Wyatt then hurriedly jumped into Matilda’s canoe, one foot still in his own, and orbed them all to what appeared to be a different, though altogether more tranquil part of the same Aotearoa island.

“W-w-where are we?” Matilda asked, her teeth chattering from having been drenched in lake water and smelly Taniwha saliva.

“Wanaka Tree,” answered Wyatt, offering her his jacket, which Matilda reluctantly accepted, as she felt herself fast approaching hypothermia.

“ _May I_?” she asked Wyatt, gesturing to the logs in the distance. He nodded but bade her sit as he orbed to the logs, gathering them, and popping in front of her, laying them neatly in the fire pit that they fortuitously happened to stumble upon. Placing her hand atop a log, she loosened one of her faux diamond earrings, and a familiar crackle and spark emerged from her hand, causing the wood to smoke and eventually set ablaze.

“Val,” he began, “I’m really, really, _really_ sorry about earlier—I should’ve warned you about the Taniwha before we left the campsite—I should’ve shared the canoe with you—kept you closer—”

“Wyatt, _it’s ok_ ,” she answered, staring at the flickering glassy amber flames ahead. “We’re basically coworkers, it’s not like we’re _married_ or anything—”

“Still,” he continued, now sitting next to Matilda, “I’m your division partner, and I should’ve given you more guidance, especially since you’re a rebel—and a novice camper—”

Indignant upon hearing this, Matilda spoke in protest. “I’ve been camping as a kid—”

“Yeah, sure, Val, _glamping_ , not _camping_. It’s a _big_ difference.” For once, Matilda didn’t have the heart to argue.

“I thought,” she spoke aloud, using a stick to poke at the contained inferno, “that camping was supposed to be… _fun._ I mean,” Matilda hastily added, “campfires, s’mores, watching movies and all that. This is… _dangerous._ ”

“It gets better,” Wyatt replied, as Matilda gave him a skeptical look. “I _swear_. We do all that stuff too, but camping isn’t fun and games, all the time. Not right now, when you’re early in your training. Anyways”—he poked around in his knapsack. “Want one?” He offered Matilda what appeared to be sticky, sugary clumps speckled in cartoon-bright sunshine yellow.

“What’s that?” she asked warily as he popped one in his own mouth.

“Pascall pineapple lumps—a local New Zealand candy—pineapple taffy covered in chocolate,” he replied. She nodded and took a piece from the proffered bag. _Hmmm…not bad,_ she thought to herself, letting the fruity flavor melt across her palate. She brought out her own meal from her knapsack—the trail mix and celery sticks stuffed with crunchy peanut butter. “Oh, so you’re one of _those_ types,” he surveyed her offering.

“And that would be _what exactly?_ ” She raised an eyebrow.

“Health nut, probably one of those vegan types, with a parent who banned added sugar from the house.”

“That obvious huh?” Matilda smiled ruefully. “Though you’re wrong about the vegan part—I like my share of organic meat, thank you very much.”

Wyatt chuckled. “I grew up in a similar household. Then I went on my first-ever camping expedition and realized I needed fast-acting sugar after having the worst brain fog of my life. Even since then, I’ve carried these things with me wherever I go.”

Matilda nodded in understanding, and they munched away in companionable silence.

_9 am, Wanaka Tree, Glendhu Bay, Wanaka 9305, New Zealand_

After warming up considerably and obtaining nourishment, Matilda and Wyatt carefully disposed of their trash in a nearby bin. Once the fire was fully doused, they went about their way.

“Wanaka Tree,” began Wyatt, “is one of the most photographed trees of New Zealand, and the subject of many a hiking and amateur photography expedition. Most people typically begin in the parking lot at Waterfall Creek Track,” he said, pointing in the left-most direction.

“So why are we pilot testing this trail then?” asked Matilda, staring about the surprisingly picturesque landscape. She pulled her phone out of her knapsack and began snapping photos of the lone tree, standing upright with branches solely on its right side, located on a miniscule islet no larger than two feet in either direction.

“Well, mainly because there’s no signs directing people to this solitary tree.”

“And that would be a problem because…?” inquired Matilda. She didn’t see any sort of gargantuan Taniwha in this part of town as she skimmed the lake’s surface for even a _hint_ of the titular bubbles.

“ _Because,”_ Wyatt replied, “the campers are impetuous, magical, and absolutely stupid at times.”

“Damn, that’s harsh,” remarked Matilda. “I mean, you began as a camper—”

“ _I’m serious,_ ” he said. “If any of the kids get separated from the group, they could make the unfortunate mistake of hopping, swimming, or leap-frogging over to the Southern Alps mountains just a short distance away, and we can’t have any of them dying of hypothermia.”

“So…what do you suggest?” Matilda finally asked. _A pristine lake with a single tree, no monsters about, no signage_. To herself, this sounded like the perfect escape from humanity, as it appeared to be the very opposite of a tourist trap. _A place to meditate, be alone—and avoid hurting people with her accidental flames._

“A signage of some sort—or I would, anyways, if such a thing were even possible.”

“You mean,” Matilda frowned at Wyatt’s words, “the land’s unplottable, or something?”

Wyatt nodded. “The last time a division counselor planted a signpost here, he came down with smallpox.” Matilda visibly winced. _Ick._ Then a thought occurred to her.

“When exactly _was_ that?” Matilda asked, examining the soil content as she sifted the granules through her fingers.

“Umm….1913, I think? It ravaged the area like wildfire and killed fifty-five locals. Their families were, quite understandably, devastated.”

“Yeah,” Matilda answered, mulling things over. “That sounds really terrible. Not to sound crass though, but—are you sure the guy didn’t already have smallpox?”

Wyatt shook his head. “Val, I know what you’re getting at, but _trust me_ , you never wanna screw with local legends and history in this part of the world. And I don’t plan on getting fired for knowingly exposing twenty middle-schoolers to smallpox either.”

Matilda and Wyatt continued to walk along the perimeter of the lake, occasionally picking up and tossing a stray pebble into the water, creating undulating ripples. “What if…” Matilda paused. “What if, instead of risking germ warfare, we create a safe word instead? Like, if a magic kid’s lost, he can say the word and he’ll instantly be orbed back to the infirmary and held there until a camp counselor picks him up? And somehow, the infirmary nurse sends a signal back to the person in charge of the rest of the campers that the kid’s with them?” She glanced over at Wyatt, hoping the idea didn’t sound too weird or stupid.

“I mean,” she faltered, “I dunno how the last part would work, but the safe word could be tried, right? Or, maybe it’s a stupid idea—forget I said anything—”

“ _No—_ ” exclaimed Wyatt. “That’s a really cool idea! I’m visualizing it—give me a couple seconds for me to work it all out in my brain—” he paced back and forth, and suddenly stopped. “Since we’re wrapping up with our session, let’s go back to the fire pit and grab the canoes. _I have an idea_.”

_10 am, Fire Pit near Wanaka Tree, Glendhu Bay, Wanaka 9305, New Zealand to Camp Wanaka, Camp Infirmary_

“The safe word we’ll test is _Wanaka_. Don’t say it aloud until I tell you and you’re holding onto me with your feet in both canoes. _Understand?_ ” Matilda nodded. “Ok, I think,” Wyatt looked around, “the coast is clear—on a count of three— _one—two—three—”_

 _“Wanaka,”_ Matilda uttered, her feet in both canoes, holding onto Wyatt for dear life, as the scenery dizzily swirled about them, and they fell, feet first, onto the polished wooden floor of Camp Wanaka’s infirmary.

“Great job, Val!” praised Wyatt, and Matilda felt her cheeks grow slightly pink as she dusted herself off and they began dragging the two canoes, one after the other, out of the slender doorframe of the infirmary cabin.

_11 am, Camp Wanaka, Lakefront Gazebo_

After securing the canoes in the athletics shed, the pair went off to their respective dwellings (Matilda to her cottage, Wyatt to his micro-chic tiny cabin) for a shower and a fresh change of clothes. Once that had been taken care of, the two convened at their usual meeting spot, the lakefront gazebo, clipboards in hand.

“What do we do now?” asked Matilda.

“We fill out our field evaluations,” replied Wyatt, indicating the two corresponding pages.

The questionnaire was brief, and read as follows:

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

_Camp Wanaka_

_Rate your experience (on a scale of 0-10, 10 being best) pilot-testing locations and rationale for your decision:_

_Albert Town Campground, 9382, New Zealand_

_Rationale:_

_Wanaka Tree, Glendhu Bay, Wanaka 9305, New Zealand_

_Rationale:_

_\----------------------------------------------------------------------_

Matilda bit her lip and gathered her thoughts together over the next couple of minutes, jotting them down in her slightly lopsided cursive handwriting.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

_Albert Town Campground, 9382, New Zealand: 0_

_Rationale:_ Nearly got scalped by Taniwha mythical lake monster; lost flip-flop for several harrowing seconds and suffered mild unavoidable hypothermia

_Wanaka Tree, Glendhu Bay, Wanaka 9305, New Zealand: 9_

_Rationale:_ Excellent well-kept scenery, accessible fire pit and trash bin, no Taniwha nor other monsters visible. Deducted a point for historical smallpox epidemic and semi-related lack of available signage. _Possible resolution:_ enchanted safe-word designation; operational testing phase I complete. Full pilot testing and official launch: _TBD_ (to be determined).

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------

 _There_ , Matilda thought to herself with satisfaction. _That ought to do it._ She detached both sheets of paper, handing them to Wyatt, who would run them over to the director’s office before close of business the same day. She made as if to leave Wyatt behind in the gazebo, but he hurried after her. “Say, _Val_ , how did you come up with the safe word idea anyhow?”

She blushed. “Um—I feel weird mentioning my sources—”

“ _Please?”_ Wyatt turned on an impossible-to-resist puppy-eyed expression.

Matilda laughed. “ _Fine._ I got the idea from this movie, “Fifty Shades of Grey,” rated R. Obscene amounts of gratuitous sex. You’ve heard of it?”

“Most definitely,” he breathed, his eyes taking on a rather fascinating and somewhat dilated expression.

“I never fancied you the type—” Matilda said awkwardly, before breaking contact and hurrying back over to the infirmary lodge, muttering something about having forgotten a notebook.

“Oh, _Valensi_ , he murmured, watching her retreating figure, curly flaming-red hair and all, “ _you certainly are full of surprises_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Incorporated New Zealand singer Stan Walker's song "New Takeover"  
> -That Wanaka Tree: https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/lone-tree-of-lake-wanaka  
> -New Zealand Pascall Pineapple Lump Candy: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pineapple_lumps  
> -New Zealand Maori Taniwha Legend: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taniwha  
> -New Zealand Smallpox Outbreak (1913): https://nzhistory.govt.nz/page/smallpox-epidemic-kills-55


	5. HMV: Går Gjennom Listen

5 HMV: Går Gjennom Listen

_“Eg går gjennom listen og alle kjente/Prøver bare å finne ut kem eg prøver å finne”_

_Translation: “I go through the list and everyone I know/Just trying to figure out who I'm trying to find”_

_-Kygo, song “Kem Kan Eg Ringe” (Feat. Store P & Lars Vaular)_

_6 am/3 pm GMT+2, Lufthansa LH 491, Airbus A340, Business Class_

After a quick trip to the restroom to freshen themselves up, brush their teeth, (and in Macy’s case, put on a bit of eyeliner and lipstick), Harry and Macy returned to their seats. In no time at all, the “fasten seatbelt” sign disappeared, and the terminal door opened. _They had arrived at last._

“You know,” remarked Harry casually as they walked out into the adjoining airport, “we _really_ should do this more often.”

_4:30 pm, Erlik Kaffe, Akersgata 32, 0159 Oslo, Norway_

“How’d you find about this place anyhow?” Macy asked Harry, as she stirred her almond milk café latte (or _caff_ _è latte,_ as it was called here). After dropping their luggage off at the front desk of the four-star Hotel Christiania Teater, a historic landmark built in 1918 known for its in-house theater and its authentic postmodern Renaissance architecture, they hurried off to Erlik Kaffe for some much-needed caffeine and Morgana search-and-rescue planning.

Kygo’s “Kem Kan Eg Ringe” (Feat. Store P & Lars Vaular) played throughout the establishment, as Harry took a bite of his _kanelbolle_ pastry, a broad, folded Norwegian version of a cinnamon roll, fresh from the oven. _Delicious. I simply_ must _get the recipe,_ he thought to himself as he offered a bite to Macy. “Oh, Jordan recommended it, it’s a social enterprise whose staff are recovering addicts working hard for a second chance.”

Macy’s mouth poised mid-air before her teeth had even sunken into the pastry. “ _Addicts?”_

“ _Recovered_ addicts, love,” Harry hastened to emphasize, taking a sip of strong _kaffe_. “They’ve served their time, and much like America, I imagine it can be exceedingly difficult to pass a background check once you’ve obtained a criminal record.”

Macy nodded upon hearing this and bit into the pastry, savoring the granules of melted sugar and spiced cinnamon notes blending together. “ _Dang,_ they sure make really good pastries,” she murmured, half to herself. “Thank Jordan for me, will you?”

“Will do, once we’re back,” Harry answered. “Speaking of family, what do we know about Morgana?” he spoke in a lower tone, so that Macy had to bend forward to hear him over the crowded din of the coffee shop.

Macy pulled out her phone and perused her notes. “Morgana helped out at a succubus birth, then disappeared in Oslo two weeks ago. That’s _literally_ all we have to go by.”

A thought occurred to Harry. “How lethal are succubus bites, if one has Morgana’s magical powers?”

Macy took another sip of her latte and mulled this over. “Succubus bites, if one’s unfortunate to be a mere mortal, can involve an enormous loss of blood, though are rarely fatal in and of themselves. From my research, the creature has enough superhuman strength to lift a full-grown man by a single hand. They’re also skilled climbers and feed off human emotions.”

Harry frowned as he tore off another piece of pastry. _A birth of a succubus—birth in general, really—was an emotionally-charged event._ “So, if the succubus bites aren’t fatal in a mortal, what does that mean for someone of Morgana’s magical prowess?”

“I’m searching…” Macy’s eyes remained glued to her phone, as she read over the “Scientific Explanations” section of the topic online, which mentioned sleep paralysis and nightmares. Then her eyes widened, as she shoved her device in front of Harry’s face.

“ _Age,_ Harry. It affects _age._ ”

The pair stared at each other.

“Y-you’re saying that—” Harry stuttered aloud. Macy nodded.

“She’s probably alive, but we don’t know how old she is—she could be…” Macy thought aloud. “ _Sixty? Forty? Thirty years old?”_

“Depending on the severity of the bite, you mean,” interjected Harry, quickly catching on. “So, what now? I mean, _love_ , we can’t very well go up to every random Norwegian redhead and say “ _excuse me, are you Morgana, a century-and-some-odd-years-old witch?”_ That would in all probability earn us a well-deserved slap to the face—”

“Yeah, no,” Macy cringed. “But knowing Morgana…” she trailed off, remembering the witch’s fondness for first editions. “She does have a fondness for bookshops. The more eclectic, the better. How about we start there?”

“Excellent idea,” exclaimed Harry.

_5:10 pm, Erlik Kaffe, Akersgata 32, 0159 Oslo, Norway_

After considerable amounts of internet sleuthing of the most unusual and exceptionally cozy bookshops within a ten mile radius of Oslo, Macy and Harry had narrowed their list to six in particular:

-Cappelens Forslag ( _signed first editions)_

-Tronsmo _(lauded by American poet)_

-Eldorado bokhandel _(largest indie)_

-Litteraturhuset _(free author office space)_

-Bislet Bok _(one-room)_

-Sagene Bok og Papir _(cozy with travel books)_

Macy checked the time on her phone. _Just past 5 pm._ She did a few mental calculations in her head. The faculty dinner was at 7 pm nearby the hotel and would probably last an hour or two. It would take a full hour to get dressed and primped so they needed to be back at the hotel at 5:45. Which gave them, in all likelihood, fifteen minutes to make a pit stop at the first bookstore, Cappelens Forslag.

_5:20 pm, Outside Cappelens Forslag, Oslo, Norway, Bernt Ankers gate 4B, 0183_

_Blast it,_ thought Harry. _We’ve arrived too late._ The signage indicated that the shop had closed a mere twenty minutes earlier. He made as though to depart, Macy trailing in his wake.

“Harry!” hissed Macy, beckoning him to the gated parking alley located to the right of the store, its gates open. “ _Over here—”_ and he followed her through the shadows of buildings overhead, turning a corner to face the back entrance of the antiquarian establishment.

“Love,” he panted running after him, “does this constitute breaking and entering?”

Macy turned around and gave him a deadpan expression. _Do you really think I’m that stupid?_ Macy’s visage seemed to indicate. “There’s an Open House event showcasing the newest author, and it ends in ten minutes.”

“How did you know?” asked Harry, perplexed. “Did you engage in a new form of telepathy?”

She refrained from rolling her eyes, pointing instead to the prominent signage:

_Åpent husarrangement i kveld: Forfatter: Melanija Paradis | 16:30 til 17:30_

And below it, written in smaller font: “ _Open house event tonight: Author Melanija Paradis | 4:30-5:30 pm.”_

“Oh,” fumbled Harry, at a loss for words. “ _Right, then_. On we go—"

_5:28 pm, Cappelens Forslag, Oslo, Norway, Bernt Ankers gate 4B, 0183_

The interior of Cappelens Forslag reminded Macy of one of her college professor’s living rooms back in the day, with its floor-to-ceiling build-in bookcases, painted a creamy alabaster. Every single bookshelf was filled neatly to the brim with tomes of every color, shape, and size. Where one expected to find a fireplace and mantlepiece, one instead found two cushioned tall leather chairs in its stead. Macy and Harry split up their search; Macy continued exploring a section further ahead, with its brown covers and intricate gold-printed design showcasing the insides of a person’s brain. Instead of veins and frontal cortex etchings, however, she noticed that there was a single large machinery cog drawn at the back of the artistically depicted heads.

Macy reached out to touch one of the covers, and felt a peculiar sort of static shock, causing her to yank her hand away sharply. “Love, are you alright?” Harry came up behind her, his brow furrowed. “Was it the book—” he reached out to touch the book, but Macy slapped his hand away sharply.

“We don’t know what this book does—we need to be careful!” she whispered in his ear. Macy flagged down a bookseller. “Umm… _snakker du engelsk_?” she inquired, hoping the seller knew the English language. To her relief, the young man nodded. “Awesome—ok, so, uh—what can you tell us about these? Are these for sale?” Macy asked, gesturing at the brown books. His eyes widened at where she was pointing and shook his head. _Definitely a no, then._ “We’re looking for a friend, and this book might tell us something about her—is it about the brain? Nightmares? Sleep paralysis?” She felt as though she were playing a game of “spaghetti,” in which one would toss a boiled noodle onto the adjoining wall. If it stuck, it was cooked; if it slid, it was still raw.

“ _The last,”_ the young man whispered, angling his head this way and that, to ensure he wasn’t being overheard.

Harry and Macy looked at each other. _Sleep paralysis was associated with the succubus legend. Could Morgana be here?_ There hadn’t been any other book that generated such a physiological response though, and they were pressed for time. Macy jotted down a note on her phone: “ _electric shock, brown book, sleep paralysis._ ” _And it was just the beginning._

_6:40 pm, Hotel Room, Hotel Christiania Teater, Stortingsgata 16, 0161 Oslo, Norway_

Macy and Harry had gotten lost on the way back to their hotel, and were forced to take a cab back, which Harry found rather expensive, (“ _really,_ Macy, we could have orbed instead!”) but Macy pointed out that the risk of being seen in broad daylight in unfamiliar territory would have been a far worse situation, and so he capitulated, for the time being.

Using a single bathroom to do one’s makeup, put on clothing, and various adornments was a bit much, so Harry hurriedly put on his dress shirt, slacks, and tie, and said he’d wait for her in the lobby. In the meantime, Macy surveyed the dresses she had brought with her with a critical eye. _Should she go for the sky-blue short gown? The scalloped black cocktail dress? The floor-length ballgown? Decisions, decisions…_

She pulled out her phone and searched online for the restaurant’s details. _Formal attire suggested,_ it read, with “$$$$” atop the description, with what appeared to be a Michelin recommendation. _Oh, wow. That settled that, then_ , she thought to herself, pulling out the smoky chartreuse form-fitting ballgown from among the dresses hanging in the hotel room closet, its V-neck capped sleeve tulle and lace fabric glittering as though covered in millions of glittering constellations. She donned a layer of lipstick, a deep claret color that complimented her blush and eyeshadow. Throwing one last glance toward the mirror, she thought to herself, _here goes nothing_.

_6:50 pm, Front of Hotel Christiania Teater, Stortingsgata 16, 0161 Oslo, Norway_

Harry checked his timepiece once more. _Where on earth was Macy?_ If she didn’t appear within the next minute, he was going to duck into a corner and orb upstairs, whether she liked it or not. He felt a tap on his shoulder. “Harry, how do I look?” _Macy, thank goodness._ He turned around and gaped.

His beautiful wife of twenty-four years was dressed to the nines in a sparkling silver-colored dress that appeared to have hundreds upon thousands of glittering pieces on it, whether it was miniscule Swarovski crystals or tiny glitter-woven threads, he did not know. Her figure was curvy and elegant—which he found especially impressive due to her having borne three children from her very womb, all those many years ago. _Were they really over fifty years old? Time certainly had flown by, but thanks to their magical genes, both naturally and unnaturally-occurring, neither looked a day older than thirty, save for the rare silvery tendrils of hair each found on the other, on occasion._

“Breathtaking, _love,_ divinely so,” he murmured, kissing his wife as they made their way to the faculty dinner.

 _7:30 pm, Restaurant_ _À L’Aise, Essendrops gate 6, Oslo 0368 Oslo, Norway_

After tucking into the fifth of the thirteen-total miniature course meal, Macy couldn’t help but feel a certain degree of healthy envy for Norwegian academia. “You Norwegians certainly know how to treat us Americans,” she couldn’t help but remark to their two hosts, Drs. Jakob and Sofie Henrik, respectively, both of whom were tenured professors in the medical research faculty division. Macy’s starter dish was scallops in a pickled horseradish cream, their inch-wide translucent orbs dotted with a smidgen of edible gold. _Wow_. Harry had admired his pulled pork croquette, a delectable morsel on a bed of black lentils. Laurent-Perrier Grand Siècle champagne was ordered tableside as a tablespoon of smoked duck gizzard and savory egg custard followed, along with a fingerling piece of pillowy halibut fish in aged soy sauce over a teaspoon of the freshest-tasting white rice Macy had even had.

Sofie smiled shyly and laughed, her platinum blond wavy hair shaking ever-so-slightly with the movement. “We invest a great deal in education, we Nordics, I suppose. We get taxed twice as much as you Americans, but it feeds into our youth—they are our greatest legacy after all, no?”

“Right,” said Macy, as she dove into her halibut. “Of course, that makes sense—"

“Attending public universities is free for all Norwegians _and_ international students, and we constantly seek the best and the brightest,” interjected Sofie’s husband Jakob, who was just as platinum blond as she.

“And the teachers?” Harry asked, almost as if reading Macy’s mind. “How does one become a teacher in Norway?”

“It’s _much_ more difficult than America,” answered Sofie. “A public primary school teacher must have a framework plan, requiring the teacher to take what we call ‘formal responsibilities’ plus ‘pedagogical and practical responsibilities.’ And that’s just for first grade alone.”

 _Dang,_ thought Macy, thinking of the neighborhood public school she’d attended as a six-year-old, whose teachers definitely didn’t seem to have had _any_ plan at all, letting the kids run wild whenever there was a substitute, until she let that fact slip to her father Dexter, who subsequently raised hell and put her into a parent-led charter school until he decided what to do next ( _which of course, was way before he had the bright idea of boarding school_ ).

“Admission to high schools isn’t guaranteed, on the flip side,” stated Jakob. “Students must test in and apply to high schools all across the region, which means perhaps moving away earlier than expected. That said, they do have dedicated teachers that are quite passionate and motivated.”

“So, here, teaching is considered a noble profession?” asked Harry. “I mean—” he clarified, “it _is_ in America, but the respect is rather concentrated in upper academia, which is unfortunate, as there are _so_ many other teachers that are underappreciated…” he trailed off. Sofie and Henrik nodded.

“One of _the_ noblest professions of all,” Sofie proudly replied. “A ‘single-subject teacher’ _Fagl_ _ærer_ requires three years of educational training; a ‘general subject teacher’ _Allmennl_ _ære_ requires four years. For teaching in upper secondary schools, a higher university degree with five to six years of study plus one year of training programs is required. All the more reason,” she gestured to the dishes before them, “we enjoy celebrating our successes every now and then. _Cheers,”_ she ended, raising her glass of champagne, and the rest toasted, clinking their own glasses with hers.

_9 pm, Hotel Room to Bathroom Hot Tub, Hotel Christiania Teater, Stortingsgata 16, 0161 Oslo, Norway_

Macy and Harry unlocked their hotel room door and ambled inside, having enjoyed a delectable meal (and a long moonlit walk to walk off said meal), eagerly anticipating tomorrow’s presentation to the medical anthropology students. Macy had completed much of her Hypnos subject matter review on the plane ride over and had half a mind to enjoy the hot tub she had noticed earlier in her speedy haste to dress for dinner.

The first thing she noticed, however, was that the sheets appeared different. _The turn-down service_ , she realized, in which hotel staff would enter the room and fold over the outer bedspread sham, adding goose down feather pillows, a vase of white flowers, and a couple of tableside chocolates. In her years of researching and writing, she had never experienced such amenities until now. She noticed, indeed, the down pillows tied together with a pale silk ribbon, and a tiny transparent glass plate with what appeared to be wrapped candies of some sort. Macy carefully added the treats to her purse in case they ever grew hungry later.

She removed her silk nightie from her luggage bag and proceeded to the bathroom, noticing a myriad of rose petals around the hot tub, plus various liquid soap containers. “Um, sweetie?”

“Yup?” Harry, sitting at the small desk facing their hotel window, looked up.

“I’m gonna take a bath—” she began, motioning to the hot tub, which was filled to the brim with piping-hot water. “It seems the hotel staff has added rose petals and other… _accoutrements_ to the hot tub,” she pointed to the area and Harry walked over, intrigued.

“Oh _my,_ ” he murmured, peering at the hot tub then over at Macy. “It certainly _does_ look inviting…”

“Are you going to help me out of my dress, Mr. Valensi?” Macy coquettishly asked. “I’m having a bit of…technical difficulty,” she said, indicating where a strand of curly hair had inadvertently wound itself around a zipper fold.

“Why _certainly,_ Dr. Valensi,” he murmured, freeing the strand, which sprang up with a telltale bounce.

_9:05 pm, Bathroom Hot Tub, Hotel Christiania Teater, Stortingsgata 16, 0161 Oslo, Norway_

Her dress slipped to the floor as she walked into the now-foggy bathroom, the steam having enveloped the space. Macy shed her undergarments and slid into the hot tub, her body enveloped in its warmth. “ _Oh, yesss….”_ she moaned aloud, her eyes slowly closing in bliss as she heard Harry unbuckle his belt, and open the closet door to place his pants, neatly folded, on a straight-edged coat hanger, along with his dress shirt on an adjoining one. Macy opened her eyes and reached her hand to the tiled exterior, where she grabbed a fistful of crimson rose petals, sprinkling them atop the surface of the water, curlicues of steam continuing to emanate forth.

She picked a random soap container and sniffed it. _Coconut and pear_ , it seemed to be. She added a couple of drops to the hot tub and soon felt as though she had entered into the tropical paradise of Epicenter Pico No. 23 once more. _But how did the hotel staff know…?_ Macy closed her eyes again and they remained closed as she heard the bathroom door shut and the familiar movement of steps arrive close to her stead. _Harry_.

“Is it my imagination, or do the soaps smell quite a lot like Epicenter Pico?” Macy asked, as she heard Harry step into the hot tub.

“I might’ve had a hand in it,” he replied, and her eyes opened. “Don’t look so shocked, love, I figured, when the hotel asked if we wanted anything to make us feel more at home, I might as well ask—”

“—Customizable soaps and all?” Macy said, now smiling. Harry nodded.

“And _just like that_ ,” he said, approaching her form, as he stepped slowly through the water to sit next to her, his shoulders aligned with the water’s upper edge.

“Oh, _Harry_ ,” she murmured, her curls now buried in his neck, as she leaned in to kiss him. “That’s _so_ sweet of you,” and she gasped as he suddenly pulled her atop him, leaning in so that their tongues were now inveigled within each other’s mouth, her arms reaching out to encircle his neck, bringing his visage closer to her own, so that her curly hair met his own chestnut strands, and her forehead touched his. He reached out to cup one breast, then the other, alternately massaging and flicking her nubs as she began to involuntarily thrust against him, moaning all the while, as he felt himself harden. _All these years, and that much hadn’t changed, he was pleased to report._

“You know the amazing thing about being in one’s late forties-to-early-fifties, while looking thirty?” Macy broke away from his embrace and stared straight into Harry’s smoldering eyes.

“What’s that, _love_? The financial means to travel?” Macy shook her head, an impish look about her visage. “ _A robust retirement plan?_ _Stocks gathering interest?_ ” She laughed aloud at his apparent myopia, her curls whirling this way and that.

She put her lips to his ear, and whispered, “ _the ability to raw-fuck you senseless, without any fear of pregnancy.”_

Harry felt himself blush from his cheeks down to his neck, possibly including his upper chest, if such a thing were even possible, as Macy resumed her sensual movements against his lower half. “Oh m- _my_ , Dr. Valensi,” he stammered, as he felt her lower lips poised just above his shaft. “How could I have _forgotten?_ Such a wonderful—” Macy slammed herself down, taking him in entirety, “— _benefit,”_ his breathing hitched, as he grasped her hips firmly, thoroughly enjoying the lubricated sensation of being cloaked in the warmth of his love. Their movements hastened, as Macy bit his shoulder; he gasped as he felt her pinch and bite a particularly sensitive part of his arm, and sensed himself expanding, throbbing upward, pulsating, until he gave a final thrust, and shuddered, as he came into his beloved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired partly by Norwegian song by Kygo, "Kem Kan Eg Ringe" (Feat. Store P & Lars Vaular) at 0:59/on: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oBL5C6lICYI  
> Erlik Kaffe is a real coffee shop in Oslo that focuses on social justice initiatives, and has its own TV show, created by Peter Nyquist; its been praised by Lonely Planet as one of the top coffee bars of Oslo: https://www.erlikkaffe.no/  
> Macy’s Evening Gown: https://www.neimanmarcus.com/p/la-femme-v-neck-cap-sleeve-tulle-lace-a-line-gown-prod224940456  
> 13-Course À L’Aise Dinner: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=2j7W-vYfrjo  
> Being a teacher in Norway: https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.tnp.no/norway/panorama/4388-being-a-teacher-in-norway%3Famp  
> Teaching qualifications in Norway: https://www.euroeducation.net/prof/norco.htm  
> Difference between an American versus Norwegian school: https://www.google.com/amp/s/longbeachtide.wordpress.com/2017/03/28/differences-between-a-norwegian-high-school-and-american-high-school/amp/


	6. MMV: Puzzle Land & Parisian Planning

6 MMV: Puzzle Land & Parisian Planning

_“Here’s a toast to being alive/I won’t be your sad story girl…/No glory being the good girl now/I make mistakes so I can learn…/Don’t worry mama I’ll always do right” –Gin Wigmore, Hangover Halo_

_7 am, Week 3, Stuart Landsborough’s Puzzling World, 188 Wanaka Luggate Hwy 84, Wanaka 9382, New Zealand_

Matilda realized that she was lucky to be alive and (more or less) free, in the beautiful country of New Zealand, rather than rotting away in a damp prison cell. Truth be told, if she’d gone to said prison, woe betide the guards, who probably would have been conflagrated within an inch of their lives the moment they told her to remove all metal jewelry for the standard-level metal detector.

As it were, she found herself in a six-foot-high faux wood outdoor labyrinth, much like the corn mazes she’d heard about online whenever Halloween rolled around. She had never experienced said corn mazes in person, because her parents were smart enough to realize that a small child with uncontrolled fire power around dried, flammable crops was an undeniable death wish. To her parents’ credit though, they didn’t take Henry or Maya to the corn mazes; if one couldn’t go, neither could the rest of them, fair and square.

 _Fair and square, indeed_ , she thought to herself, her stomach grumbling as she hadn’t had enough time to eat breakfast before arriving, stashing a trail mix packet in her knapsack as she ran out her cottage door to meet Wyatt at the lakefront gazebo.

“ _You’re late_ ,” she recalled him saying.

“Only by a minute—” she had protested, but he ignored her as he unwrapped a pamphlet map of their next destination to show her, then stowed it away in his own knapsack before he clasped her arm and they orbed out to their next adventure.

_7:20 am, Stuart Landsborough’s Puzzling World, 188 Wanaka Luggate Hwy 84, Wanaka 9382, New Zealand_

It was eerily quiet as Matilda rounded each corner with bated breath, hoping Wyatt knew what he was doing. For the sake of time, they agreed to split up and take different paths once they orbed into the center of the maze directly.

“What do you know about this location?” Matilda remembered asking him just after they orbed out.

“Oh, it’s a mystery funhouse that began as a single-story wooden maze in 1973,” he had replied, peering this way and that; they were surrounded by high brown fences, completely obscuring the next lanes over, save for six inches of space between the fence and the crumbled grey gravel on the floor below.

“Sounds kid-friendly enough,” she responded hesitantly. “Is there anything weird about the place?”

Wyatt laughed aloud. “ _Val,_ in the work we do, is there anything that _isn’t_?”

“Ok, point taken—” she began.

“Like I’ve reminded you before, you have all the tools. And if there’s anything odd, you’ll know it when you see it,” and off he went, leaving her standing in his wake.

“Uh… _thanks_?” she said uncertainly.

_7:30 am, Stuart Landsborough’s Puzzling World, 188 Wanaka Luggate Hwy 84, Wanaka 9382, New Zealand_

They had agreed to meet at the top of one of the maze’s bridges once they completed inspection of their various areas. Matilda had kept to her area of the labyrinthine path, scouring for remnants of magic or illegal portals or traces of illicit magical substances, but had no idea what she was after.

 _She couldn’t believe she was thinking this, but she almost preferred getting her hair chomped on by the Taniwha._ At least then she knew what she was in for. But here, the hushed stillness was thoroughly unnerving—there were no chirping birds to be heard, as the somewhat urban locale was completely devoid of trees.

Matilda tabulated the number of gated turns she had made. _Twelve and counting_. She peered under one of the fence posts and realized she was mere feet away from the aforementioned maze bridge—all she had to do was go straight for another eight fence lengths, make a sharp right, then a sharp left. Matilda picked up her pace, crossing the eight lengths, making a sharp right as she planned for, but just as she was to make a turn that would lead her straight to the bridge, she felt a sudden— _THWACK—a pebble perhaps, or nuts—_ against the back of her head, and whirled around, massaging her scalp, as she heard a pair of boy’s voices giggling behind one of the fence posts. _Damn kids._

She raced to where she heard the childish chatter, but no one was there. Feeling rather unsettled, she retraced her steps and somehow found her footing onto the rungs of the upwards-leaning staircase. Climbing the steps, she found this led to the 3-D bridge that acted an elevated platform, offering a bird’s-eye view of the maze below, and which path continued above and past the labyrinth to the rest of the park.

_7:39 am, Stuart Landsborough’s Puzzling World, 188 Wanaka Luggate Hwy 84, Wanaka 9382, New Zealand_

No sooner did Matilda’s foot step onto the park’s path did she gasp aloud. _Wyatt_. _Covered in green goo._ “Wyatt—what happened?” she ran forward, but stopped once she was half a foot away, not wanting to be sodden in the unknown, potentially hazardous substance.

“Run-of-the-mill slime,” he responded, as he surveyed Matilda’s pristine form. “Though I see they went easy on you—they generally do with girls—”

“If being pelted with rocks is your idea of going _easy_ on a girl—” Matilda raised an eyebrow. “Do you need…” she paused, unsure of what she had in her own knapsack that could be of any use to him. “A tissue?”

Wyatt laughed and dropped his own equally slime-covered knapsack to the grass, opening it to reveal wet wipes, a full roll of paper towels, and a change of clothes. He made quick work cleaning his knapsack; after three wet wipes, it looked almost as good as new. His clothes on the other hand…Matilda’s eyes darted this way and that, wondering if there was a bathroom he could change in. Almost as if reading her thoughts, Wyatt said, “no bathroom, Val—I’m gonna have to change clothes here—unless that’s a problem?” Matilda dumbly nodded—and quickly switched to shaking her head—“yeah—I mean— _no—_ that’s ok—um—” she could feel her cheeks reddening to match her now somewhat tangled hair, as he removed his shirt, uncovering a rather sturdy six-pack and well-toned pectoral muscles. _How had she not noticed those before?_ Matilda thought to herself, then mentally scolded herself. _Earth to Matilda! He’s your coworker! Keep this PG!_ She tried to will herself to turn around—to shield her eyes from the vision of her half-naked division counselor, but all she could do in that moment was simply gape.

She pinched herself in case she was dreaming. _Ouch_. _Nope, definitely real_ , she surmised, rubbing the curved moon indentation fast growing pink along her cream-colored skin. Her dreams had grown rather strange these past weeks—darkness, due to utter exhaustion—which transformed into a tucked-away spare bedroom she recognized from Vera Manor, with a long oval antique mirror.

_Her black sweater donned over her silken nightgown, she stared at her reflection in the mirror, angling her head this way and that, suddenly spotting Wyatt behind her, leaning against the doorframe. She whirled around as he ambled forward, not in his usual jovial manner, but with a certain barely-perceptible…what was it? Sensuality? Seductiveness? “W-Wyatt—” Matilda stammered, avoiding his gaze, as he stood near her, barely inches away. “Y-you seem…” she paused, “different.”_

_Wyatt lifted her chin upward with his hand so that her eyes met his. “I_ am _different,” he murmured into her ear, as she gasped at the sensations she experienced within, as a direct result of his touch. “Do you like it?”_

“Val—y’ok? _Earth to Val?”_

“W-what?” Matilda snapped back to reality. “O-oh, yeah. Sorry, what?” her eyes had momentarily glazed over, recalling the rather seductive dream she had had last night, the same dream that had begun to plague her for the past week, unrelentingly so, involving a certain division counselor that happened to be standing directly in front of her, at that particular moment.

“We’re going to Wanaka Lakefront next,” he said, now fully dressed in his fresh pair of khaki shorts and vintage t-shirt, which stretched over the indentations of his muscles _just so_ , and had placed his soiled ensemble in a plastic bag for laundering back at camp.

 _Ohhh boy,_ Matilda thought to herself. Between the dreams plaguing her every night and the shirtless display she had just witnessed, she knew she was in for a long day.

_8:10 am, Wanaka Lakefront, Ardmore Street, Wanaka 9305, New Zealand_

Matilda recognized the Wanaka tree from earlier. “Isn’t this a repeat?” she turned to ask Wyatt. He shook his head.

“I’ve been tasked with event planning for week 5. We’ve got an obscene amount of tealights or string lights or whatever leftover from last year, plus multi-level boats and a large screen projector.”

“ _Ooooh_ ,” Matilda exclaimed, ignoring all pretense. “A movie night?”

“I guess…” Wyatt trailed off, “though it’s not really my thing.”

“ _Really?_ ” Matilda was incredulous. “Popcorn, movie, s’mores roasting—what’s not to love?”

“I dunno,” he replied. “Planning stuff can be a real drag sometimes. Unlike vanquishings, they get old after awhile. But if you’ve got any ideas, I’m all ears—” he answered, fully expecting her to appear deflated, but much to her surprise, she beamed.

Matilda dug out her phone and showed him a picture of exactly what she had in mind. _Boats, check. Tealights, check. Movie night, check._ “So, awhile ago, Paris put up the first-ever Cinéma sur l’Eau on the Canal de l’Ourcq, with thirty-eight electric boats for up to 150 people to sit in—” she began.

“Wait, Paris as in—Paris, _France?_ ” Wyatt asked incredulously, and she nodded. “Wow. How’d that idea start?”

“I dunno the specifics, but it was the year I was born—my mom said there was a pandemic—some didn’t have symptoms, but others got it real bad and even died. It was _awful._ There was this thing called “social distancing,” where people stayed six feet apart wearing masks, to avoid the disease’s spread—I mean, there wasn’t a vaccine yet—so the city got the idea of hosting a social-distance-friendly movie night—"

“Yeah, makes sense so far—” Wyatt thought aloud. “Basically, you’re saying we should have our own movie on the lake? With tealights and popcorn?”

“Well, in Paris, they served ice cream, had a lottery system to determine who went on the boats, went the whole nine yards, published it in papers, but I mean, I don’t know the camp’s budget—”

“Popcorn would probably make sense,” mused Wyatt. “That way, we wouldn’t attract ants—no sugar left over and all that.”

“True,” agreed Matilda, flipping through the rolodex of photos she had saved of the documented event. “ _See_? Literally all you’d need to do is pitch the projector on one end of the sandy shore, anchor it, then put string lights all around—near the screen, or even on the boats themselves—and put three or four kids to a boat, with one or two counselors in charge—or however the ratio works these days. We could play “Grand Budapest Hotel” or “Clue” or whatever cool movie is age-appropriate, but keeps the ambiance, European chic and whatever. It would be _awesome,_ ” she breathed.

Wyatt stepped back and surveyed Matilda, his eyes twinkling.

“ _What?_ ” asked Matilda, annoyed. “Didn’t you hear _anything_ I just said?”

“It’s just,” Wyatt shook his head. “I’ve never heard you talk so much in your life…about something you’re passionate about, I mean,” he clarified. “It’s— _nice._ ”

Matilda giggled rather uncharacteristically, her sweet-smelling curls in a frizzy halo about her head. “I just have a thing for Paris. _A love affair, really._ For tea lights, for beautiful ideas and creative things…” she stated matter-of-factly, as she removed her ponytail tie from her head, her crimson curls cascading about her shoulders as she undid her knapsack to reach for her comb, and it was now Wyatt’s turn to gape at the flowy-haired goddess before him. _He would give anything to breathe in a whiff of those locks…_ as he willed his lower half, in his khaki shorts, to behave.

They sat on the sandy shore, overlooking the endless body of water rippling with its invisible tide, surrounded by the majestic Southern Alps. “Want some?” Matilda had since retied her hair ( _darn_ , Wyatt thought wistfully), offering him a handful of trail mix, which he gratefully accepted.

“ _Y’know_ , Val,” he remarked after chewing, attempting to sound casual, “if I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought you just planned your ideal date night.”

“What if I did?” Matilda answered, despite her shyness when it came to anything remotely romantic, offering him more of the raisin, peanut, and chocolate mix she knew he liked. “Would you…” she hesitated, “…be ok with that?”

Wyatt paused, surprised at Matilda’s candor, his eyes softening as he reached over to stroke one of her stray flaming-red curls. “Yeah… _yeah_ I would.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

_Camp Wanaka_

_Rate your experience (on a scale of 0-10, 10 being best) pilot-testing locations and rationale for your decision:_

_Stuart Landsborough’s Puzzling World, 188 Wanaka Luggate Hwy 84, Wanaka 9382, New Zealand_

_Rating: 8_

_Rationale: Camper-friendly activities coupled with misbehaving child ghosts (throwing pebbles at junior female counselor, chucking slime at male division counselor)_

_Wanaka Lakefront, Ardmore Street, Wanaka 9305, New Zealand_

_Rating: 10_

_Rationale: Beautiful picturesque lakeside landscape ideal for movie night with tea lights, popcorn, and floating boats (heavily supervised, of course) ~~, and hugging. Appropriate, consensual camp-appropriate hugging.~~_

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Partly inspired by Gin Wigmore's song "Hangover Halo" https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DrR6aC-8uyw  
> -NZ's Stuart Landsborough's Puzzling World: https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/stuart-landsborough-s-puzzling-world  
> -Floating movie night in Paris, July 2020: https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.travelandleisure.com/attractions/festivals/paris-floating-movie-night-cinema-sur-leau%3Famp%3Dtrue


	7. HMV: Seeking El Dorado

7 HMV: Seeking El Dorado

_“Sammen kan vi klare alt”_

_Translation: “Together we can do everything” –Stina Talling, song “BlimE (Mer Enn God Nok)”_

_10 am Week 3, Auditorium, University of Oslo Faculty of Medicine, Klaus Torgårds vei 3, 0372 Oslo, Norway_

Her hands trembled as she held her notes and walked slowly to the podium, having heard her name called. “I present to you, Dr. Macy Valensi, eminent American researcher, here to discuss her medical anthropological research on Hypnos!” Dr. Jakob Henrik had eagerly announced to the crowd of medical students sitting in the auditorium.

“ _You’ll do great!_ ” Harry mouthed as he waited in the wings, much like he had back in 1941 when he was Jimmy Westwell to the ever-beguiling Darcy Valensi.

Macy sported a sky-blue sheath column V-neck knee-length dress with cascading ruffles. She had reviewed her outfits the night before, trying to figure out what would be considered work-appropriate in a different country, hoping to avert an accidental faux pas or international incident of a similar regard. She couldn’t help but cringe remembering the time when Harry had brought home chrysanthemums to present to a French mutual friend, not knowing it symbolized funerals in their culture. _Whoops._

As of late, Macy and Harry had settled into a sort of routine, cuddling together hours before the sun rose, then slowly waking up in a rather languorous, lascivious fashion, dressing, and proceeding downstairs into Restaurant Teatro, where breakfast was provided for free in an intimate, darkened navy/raspberry-blue interior with long, color-coordinating navy-hued scalloped velveteen booths. The adjoining walls were decorated with gold-framed art; one was of a rather somber man in a suit, tie, and bowler hat (the bottom-right painting); the top-right piece displayed a serene ocean (or lake) scene, with a piece of lush, mountainous land jutting out in the background.

The largest artwork of all was in the black circular center frame, depicting hybridized butter-yellow roses with streaks of pink in its interior folds, in a vase that sat upon a realistic-appearing silken blue tablecloth, which of course matched the hotel restaurant’s walls and seating booth impeccably.

_10:40 am, Auditorium, University of Oslo Faculty of Medicine, Klaus Torgårds vei 3, 0372 Oslo, Norway_

Macy completed her lecture, and the students applauded. She looked around, somewhat dazed. She always had the odd ability to zone out when giving a presentation, especially since Hypnos was a topic she knew so intimately. The only thing she asked of Jakob and Sofie was that there be an online Reddit Ask Me Anything (AMA) session instead of a detailed half-hour-long Q&A session, due to her and Harry having a mild scheduling conflict (she didn’t specifically mention searching for a century-old witch aloud, for fear people would point them in the general direction of the nearest mental asylum).

_11 am, Outside University of Oslo Faculty of Medicine, Klaus Torgårds vei 3, 0372 Oslo, Norway_

“Darling,” Harry said, smoothing away stray strands of Macy’s curls, and kissing her squarely on the lips, “you did an _excellent_ job.”

“Oh why _thank you_ , Mr. Valensi,” she all but purred, enjoying the feel of her husband’s muscular arms embracing her for those precious, beautiful minutes before the search began once more. Harry made as though to remove his suit jacket, revealing his cropped shirt sleeves, and Macy gasped, pulling him aside and clutching his suit tightly toward him.

“Macy, what on _earth_ are you doing?”

“Preventing you from making an ass of yourself—” Macy began, pointing to a large purpled spot on his bare porcelain-hued arm, an unmistakable hickey. _A visible reminder of the past evening’s passionate ardor._

“ _Oh dear Lord,”_ Harry murmured, as his cheeks turned pink. “How _most_ embarrassing…” he trailed off, suddenly self-conscious.

“It’s fine,” said Macy, “we just need to get back to the hotel so you can change to a long-sleeved shirt, then we can get on our way.”

_Noon, Front of Hotel Christiania Teater, Stortingsgata 16, 0161 Oslo, Norway_

Once Harry and Macy changed into less conspicuous clothing (slacks and a long-sleeved shirt for Harry, leggings and an olive-colored blouse for Macy), they reviewed their current list of bookshops. _Tronsmo, followed by Eldorado bokhandel._ Macy checked the map on her phone; Tronsmo was a five-minute walk away.

_12:03 pm, Universitetsgata, Oslo, Norway_

They turned left from the hotel, heading down Stortingsgata toward Roald Amundsens gate, where they turned right and continued down Universitetsgata, passing what appeared to be a large grassy field called “Studenterlunden Park,” which was dotted with restaurants, open markets, and to their right further down, a Ferris wheel and what appeared to be a long rectangular ice-skating rink. _An ice rink?_ Harry frowned and checked the weather using Macy’s phone. _Sixty-one degrees Fahrenheit_. After a bit of internet sleuthing, he discovered that the ice rink was mainly used by local sports teams for training over the summer, or else closed off, and that the rink itself was free and open to the public from November to March every winter season. He made a mental note to research the place further, perhaps for a lovely winter date night should the appropriate situation arise. 

_12:08 pm, Tronsmo, Universitetsgata 12, 0164 Oslo, Norway_

Macy and Harry entered the shop, which had white-painted walls and stacks upon stacks of neatly-curated books upon each side table and floor-to-ceiling bookshelf. The interior appeared more modern than the earlier bookshop they visited, both in terms of architecture and overall ambiance. According to an online website, this shop had been hailed by the American poet Allen Ginsberg as “the best bookstore in the world,” due to its coverage of social issues including globalization, plus its prolific sales of comic books. Most notably, around half of the books were in English, which would hopefully save themselves some time.

Harry turned a corner, startled to find six or so artfully crafted black silhouette cutouts of various key literary figures ( _none of whom he recognized,_ he was ashamed to admit). He followed Macy to the back corner of the shop, where he spotted two moving turnstiles of postcards and various eclectic greeting cards. To the left of those was what appeared to be a neon yellow mouse ( _or bear?_ ) with its right paw turned upward. Over the doorframe a foot to the right, there was an enormous grinning cartoon-esque red elephant-shaped bas-relief artwork of some sort, positively _littered_ with iridescent yellow polka-dots.

Nothing really stood out in particular—it seemed, in their eyes, a perfectly normal, run-of-the-mill bookshop. As they exited the corner room and stepped upwards toward a different set of bookshelves, they spotted modern art frames of historical contemporary prints, and what appeared to be a tiny banjo made of a refurbished red-and-white gasoline container.

_1 pm, Outside of Eldorado bookshop, Torggata 9A, 0181 Oslo, Norway_

As lovely as Tronsmo was, there was nothing that particularly screamed “Morgana _._ ” Macy hoped they’d have better luck retracing her steps as they headed into the third bookshop on their list. They had left Tronsmo, heading southwest on Universitetsgata toward Kristian Augusts gate, making a left then continuing onto Pilestredet, making a left onto Grensen, continuing onto Stortovet, and making a final left onto Torggata, where they found themselves facing the fancy red “El Dorado” overhead marquee signage that vaguely reminded them of vintage movie theaters of yore.

“I hope they have a café,” remarked Macy, as her stomach suddenly growled.

“Me too,” replied Harry, “I’m positively famished.”

_1:10 pm, Crêperie de Mari, Inside Eldorado bookshop, Torggata 9A, 0181, Oslo, Norway_

They skimmed the menu together. _Vegan and gluten-free options available,_ it read, much to Macy’s delight. Her dairy allergy seemed to narrow her culinary options wherever they went, but it didn’t seem to pose too much of a difficulty here, thankfully enough.

After being seated, Macy ordered a “Spinach Vegan,” priced at 139 kronor (kr), consisting of spinach, cherry tomatoes, sun-dried tomatoes, black olives, garlic, and avocado, served with a side of fresh rocket salad ( _arugula,_ she knew), and balsamic vinaigrette. Harry went with a “Crêpe Monsieur,” priced at 149kr, which had crispy bacon, egg, snøfrisk, spinach, tomatoes, listed as the main ingredients. He had no idea what snøfrisk was, but decided it was part and parcel of their “Nordic adventure.” Their dishes arrived several minutes later (Harry discovered that the snøfrisk was a type of tangy, spreadable goat’s cheese), and they ate with gusto. They had worked together, slept together, borne three children together, and understood well throughout it all, that being hangry was a distinct recipe for trouble.

_2 pm, Eldorado bookshop, Torggata 9A, 0181 Oslo, Norway_

Macy checked her notes; Eldorado bookshop was known as the largest independent bookstore in Oslo. _Was this really a place Morgana would choose to hide?_ To her, Morgana seemed a whip-smart, hold-no-prisoners sort, the “tell-it-as-it-is” type. _Where would such a feisty person head to, given her strong personality?_ They should have run into her by now if she were indeed around, whether in a thirty-year-old or fifty-year-old appearance.

She and Harry gazed in awe at the white marbled interior with a stories-high dome, from which origami butterflies dangled on barely-visible string. The airy modern appearance of the curved and angular bookshelves reminded Macy of fancy department store makeup counters and store display cases, merged with the upkeep style of her local Seattle library.

Turning a corner, they noticed pale slate-colored chairs with upper eaves, the sort one found in British manors, except these particular ones were rather modern in appearance. The lower walls were a ribbed alabaster hue, and six feet upward, turned into a sharply-contrasting black, covered in gold-framed ethereal, vaguely Impressionist oil paintings.

_And suddenly it hit her._

Perhaps they _were_ looking in all the wrong places. Morgana’s strident leanings would probably have had an internet trail of some sort. As for her love of gardens and _hygge_ , she and Harry would have to continue on their list until they stumbled upon the most “ _hygge”_ of them all, the very embodiment of coziness itself.

“ _Harry,”_ whispered Macy, tugging on her husband’s sleeve. “We need to leave for the hotel _now._ I think I know how to reach Morgana.”

“But love _, must_ we? They’ve just started a book talk up above and they’re serving delicious free coffee in metal-drawn thermoses—” Macy raised an eyebrow. “Oh, _fine,”_ he groused, as he followed his wife through the airy hallways and down the marble steps to the bookshop’s exit.

_4 pm, Hotel Room, Hotel Christiania Teater, Stortingsgata 16, 0161 Oslo, Norway_

Macy sat, her laptop perched on the desk in their dark turquoise hotel room. _Here goes nothing,_ she thought, her fingers shaking slightly as she accessed the main Reddit website, logging into her account and accessing the r/science forum of 24.7 million members. “ _Science AMA Series: Dr. Macy Valensi”_ she typed in the subject line. _“I have performed medical anthropological research and published findings on the Greek mythological Hypnos, shaping genetics-based sleep studies internationally. AMA!”_

_4:05 pm, Hotel Room, Hotel Christiania Teater, Stortingsgata 16, 0161 Oslo, Norway_

She checked her laptop for notifications, and her phone’s Reddit app too, just in case. _Nothing_. Then, a question popped up, then another, and a couple after that.

The first question: “ _How much did your research cost? And the mechanisms? My boyfriend used a ResMed AirMini™Ultimate Travel CPAP Package with F20 full mask_.” Macy sprang to action and began typing the answer almost immediately; truth be told, research costs and mechanisms varied so much due to countless factors, but she would answer this to the best of her ability.

The second question: “ _Do you think, in the future, robots can do sleep studies, small ones perhaps?_ ” Macy decided to write a five-sentence response, that in a nutshell could easily be summed up as saying “never say never.”

The third question: “ _Nyx was the father of Hypnos, who then became the father of Morpheus. Would you consider expanding your research to encompass the entire family? Why or why not? Please PM.”_ Macy paused upon reading the private messaging request, and thought about the familial reference, not to mention “Morpheus,” which sounded a lot like…

“ _Morgana,”_ muttered Harry, peering over his wife’s shoulder. She nodded.

“I think it’s her,” she whispered. She hovered and clicked on the third question asker’s linked account, which she thought would have been a throwaway account, but was pleasantly surprised to spot an electronic communications trail, leading to various mythological subthreads, plus a handful of OB-GYN comments reaming out a novice obstetrician for trying to mansplain to her a rudimentary concept in the field, dated to the day before. Macy bit back a smile. “Oh, that’s _her_ , alright.”

_4:35 pm, Hotel Room, Hotel Christiania Teater, Stortingsgata 16, 0161 Oslo, Norway_

After reviewing the myriad subthread messages and comments, Macy went back to her AMA, which was woefully sparse. _No matter,_ she thought to herself. _They’d accomplished what they’d set out to do_. There was just one last thing to take care of.

_5 pm, Hotel Room, Hotel Christiania Teater, Stortingsgata 16, 0161 Oslo, Norway_

Harry and Macy discussed at length about how to best reach out to Morgana, if it _was_ her, which they were fairly sure it was. It was likely she was younger and wished to enjoy her freedom yet seemed unable to resist the urge to dole out obstetric advice.

Macy carefully crafted the following coded message through private message:

**_M_ ** _ellow **O** ranges **R** ipening **G** rowing **A** round **N** ear **A** pples?_

“ _Yes,”_ the recipient of the message replied almost immediately. Macy uttered a shrill squeak as her fingers paused over the keyboard. _What next?_

“Ask her if she wants to come home,” Harry suggested, peering over Macy’s shoulder.

**_C_ ** _ozy **O** wls **M** eet **E** ver **H** earkening **O** ver **M** orning **E** levations?_

_Please_ , Macy silently pleaded, sending the “ _come home_ ” question Morgana’s way.

“ _I can’t,_ ” the reply came.

**_W_ ** _ise **H** erds **Y** ell **?**_

“ _I’ll age.”_ And with that, Morgana signed out.

_5:15 pm, Hotel Room, Hotel Christiania Teater, Stortingsgata 16, 0161 Oslo, Norway_

“Dammit,” Macy cursed aloud. “What do we do now?”

“It seems,” remarked Harry, “that Morgana is in a bit of a conundrum.”

“Yeah, no shit,” muttered Macy. “Sorry Harry—I’m just frustrated,” as he moved to massage her shoulders. “If she goes home, the succubus bite wears off and she’ll be old again, grey hair, wrinkles, the works. If she stays in the country the bite originated—Norway in this case—she’ll stay forever young, dewy skin and all.”

“Seems like quite a dilemma,” mused Harry.

“How so?” Macy frowned. “I’d choose family over _anything_.”

“Would you, love? Even if it meant having limbs that ached painfully, a clientele that was unrelenting, zero free time as the island’s only obstetrician and nanny and foster carer, and family that almost never reaches out?”

“We reach out!” Macy shot back hotly.

“When was the last time?” replied Harry reasonably. “I for one can’t remember when, to my regret. Perhaps she feels exhausted, in need of a break. Maybe she believes now everyone’s grown up, since nobody calls her, she feels we don’t need her anymore.”

“That’s not true!” exclaimed Macy, putting her head in her arms. “Morgana’s the best thing that ever happened to us!”

“Does she know that?” asked Harry, softer this time. “Have we once given her the same consideration she showed us? Checked up on her at least once a week?”

“N-no, not exactly, I’ve— _we’ve_ —been very busy—” stammered Macy, as she powered off her laptop.

“ _Exactly_ ,” Harry said.

“So, what do we do now?” Macy asked, now standing. “We need her—she’s the lifeblood of our family, and if it weren’t for her, who knows if I’d be alive now with three healthy grown-up children.”

“I suggest,” said Harry pulling her into a long hug, “that we visit the next remaining bookshops on our list and continue monitoring the Reddit forums for any additional snarky obstetrical commentary.”

“Do you think she’ll come home?” Macy murmured in his ear.

“I think it might take awhile for her to decide, but love— _yes._ Yes, I do believe in my heart that she’ll come home of her own volition,” as he smoothed her curls, tucking them behind her ear as he kissed the stray tear that trickled onto her cheek. “After all, love, this is _Morgana_ we’re talking about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Norway fashion: https://blog.stylight.com/10-things-you-didnt-know-about-fashion-in-norway/  
> Never give a French person chrysanthemums: https://www.mamalisa.com/blog/never-give-a-french-person-chrysanthemums/  
> Breakfast at Restaurant Teatro: https://christianiateater.com/en/wine-dine/  
> Lunch at Eldorado bookshop's Creperie de Mari: https://www.creperiedemari.no/food-drink/   
> Reddit Science AMAs like this one:   
> https://www.reddit.com/r/science/comments/7vel6q/science_ama_series_we_are_researchers_at_johns/?utm_source=xpromo&utm_medium=amp&utm_name=amp_comment_iterations&utm_term=control_1&utm_content=comments_view_all


	8. MMV: Cinders & Cardrona Valley

8 MMV: Cinders & Cardrona Valley

_“I been once bitten now I won’t go back/I timeless act that I keep for fact…/Oh my God I’m beaten in the game of love…” –Gin Wigmore, Oh My_

_8:10 am, Week 3, Wanaka Lakefront, Ardmore Street, Wanaka 9305, New Zealand_

“ _Y’know_ , Val,” he remarked after chewing, attempting to sound casual, “if I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought you just planned your ideal date night.”

“What if I did?” Matilda answered, despite her shyness when it came to anything remotely romantic, offering him more of the raisin, peanut, and chocolate mix she knew he liked. “Would you…” she hesitated, “…be ok with that?”

Wyatt paused, surprised at Matilda’s candor, his eyes softening as he reached over to stroke one of her stray flaming-red curls. “Yeah… _yeah_ I would.”

_8:49 am, Week 4, Wyatt’s Micro-Chic Tiny House, Camp Wanaka_

“Does she know?” Wyatt inwardly cringed upon hearing the question, as he turned from the plugged-in hot plate, bearing two plates each of scrambled eggs and home fries, each decorated with ketchup smiley faces—two red dots with an upturned curve underneath.

“I made breakfast,” he plunked the platters on the table. “Protein and carbs, just how you like it—”

“Wyatt, _sweetie_ , you still didn’t answer my question—”

“Paige—”

“ _Great-Aunt_ Paige—or just plain ‘Aunt Paige’—we’re in private company—”

Wyatt sighed. “Fine. _Aunt_ Paige. And no,” he said, reaching for his fork, “she doesn’t know.” He stabbed at his potatoes, placing a morsel in his mouth. “We like each other—but she’s really skittish ok? If I throw this grenade her way, there’s no going back—”

Paige chewed thoughtfully. “You really _should_ tell her though—”

“Tell her that dear Grandma Piper’s a Charmed One? Why would I want to do that?”

“It’s a key part of her life, her mom being a Charmed One herself—”

“But it’s her _mom_ that’s the Charmed One. Not _her._ She’s probably got all sorts of pressure trying to live up to that type of reputation, and I’m not about to add to that,” he replied, as if to say _case closed_.

“What if she finds out several years from now when she meets the rest of the family? Won’t she be kind of…I dunno… _pissed_ that you weren’t upfront about it?” asked Paige casually, as she took a sip of coffee from her thermos.

“Whoa—ok, that’s jumping to conclusions. Val and I are _interested_ in each other. Like a summer thing. Definitely not _marriage_. Just a… _thing._ ” Wyatt was quick to point out.

“ _I wouldn’t be so sure about that_ ,” Paige said, sporting a cheeky grin under the coffee cup from which she sipped.

_9 am, Outside Wyatt’s Micro-Chic Tiny House, Camp Wanaka_

_Where was he?_ Matilda tapped her foot, fidgeting as she nervously twirled a crimson lock of her long hair around a slender finger as she waited for Wyatt a respectable distance away from his tiny house. _This wasn’t like him. Do I knock or wait? Knock or wait? Knock or—?_

Just then, the door swung open, and a mop of dark auburn tied-back hair was instantly visible. _Paige?_ Matilda thought incredulously. She hadn’t known any counselors or director-types to make personal calls to any of the cottages or other temporary seasonal housing on the campgrounds. “Morning, Matilda,” the counselor called out casually, an odd expression on her face.

“Uh— _morning,_ Paige—” Matilda called out uncertainly staring after her middle-aged form, though nonetheless attractive in its own way.

“ _In here, Val_ ,” Wyatt called out from within the tiny house. Matilda, hesitating, at last entered the threshold and closed the door behind her. The house’s interior was a single honey-colored timber construction, with the bare minimum of essentials—a mini fridge, a hot plate, a sink, and a cozy kitchen table on the first floor, and a thin-but-sturdy wood-carved ladder that led to what Matilda assumed was his bed.

“Nice digs, Wyatt,” she muttered, admiring the surroundings.

“Thanks,” he replied as he cleared the dishes from the kitchen table. “Don’t mind the mess, I was doing a breakfast thing—”

“With _Paige_?” Matilda tried to sound casual. “Isn’t she, like, a little old for you?”

“Wait, _what?_ ” A confused expression flickered upon Wyatt’s visage for the briefest of seconds before he burst out laughing, much to Matilda’s consternation.

“What’s so funny?” Matilda asked, definitely not in the mood for jokes. “I was just asking,” she retorted, as she felt a sudden burst of heat on her cheekbones.

It took another minute or so for Wyatt to regain his composure. Impatient, Matilda strode from the kitchen to the entryway, her hand now on the doorknob. “Val— _Val!_ ” he swallowed hard. “Look, I wasn’t laughing at _you_ —” Matilda’s fingers grasped and twisted the knob, pushing the door open as she made to depart.

“Val!” he called out quickly. “Paige’s family!” Matilda halted in her tracks and slowly turned around.

“What— _seriously?_ ” Matilda turned around and stood facing him on the miniscule wooden porch area surrounding his tiny home. “Like, blood relation? She a cousin twice removed or something?”

“Great-Aunt, actually,” he confessed.

“ _Seriously?”_ he nodded. “Dang, she’s really well-preserved…” she trailed off.

“It’s magic blood—delays aging by decades, so I’ve heard,” Wyatt answered. “She pays a visit every now and then to see how I am. Especially since I lost my mom awhile ago.”

“Oh _wow_ ,” Matilda felt bad. “I’m really sorry—I had no idea, jeez—” she began.

“It’s fine. I keep my private life under wraps. Anyways…walk to lakefront gazebo with me?” Matilda nodded, and off they went.

_11 am, Outside Cottage, Camp Wanaka_

After their lakefront gazebo planning meeting covering the upcoming Parisian boat movie night, Wyatt walked Matilda back to her cottage, where she saw a pale damask envelope waiting for her. She groaned, plucking it from the plastic mail container.

“Something the matter?” asked Wyatt, observing her visceral reaction, as she tore open the envelope and read the letter, her brow furrowing deeper with each line, her earlier smile replaced with a grimace.

“ _Maya._ ”

“Sorry— _who?_ ” asked Wyatt, puzzled.

“You’re the only one I’ve ever known to ask that,” Matilda laughed ruefully. “My dear oldest sister Maya. Little-miss-perfect Ph.D. scientist at Columbia, following in mommy’s footsteps. And dating a multi-millionaire tech genius on top of it all. My parents are _thrilled,_ obviously.”

“And that’s a problem because…?” Wyatt followed her back to the lakefront gazebo, making sure she didn’t step on any campers as she continued reading the letter while walking, thoroughly oblivious to anyone in her incoming path.

“She’s perfect. Simply, without-a-doubt _perfect_. And she always tells me what’s going on in her _perfect_ life, with her _perfect_ school, her _perfect_ partner, her _perfect_ golden-brown curls with her modeling career, and her _perfect_ dream job. She always asks when I’m visiting.”

_11:20 am, Lakefront Gazebo, Camp Wanaka_

“What do you tell her?” Wyatt inquired.

“Nothing,” answered Matilda, as they approached the lakefront gazebo. “I mean, why should I? I wouldn’t want to upset her _perfect_ little world.”

“Is she being mean to you?” Wyatt couldn’t help but ask, as he watched her pace around the gazebo’s insides.

“N-no,” she responded. “I sound like a terrible person—but every time she writes, she tells me about her life—it’s like nails on a chalkboard—and I’m reminded, _once again_ , that I’m nothing but a _failure._ That I’ll always be less than her, that I’ll never compare. That I’ll just be flame-throwing Matilda with obscenely scarlet hair and exotic Afro-Caribbean cheekbones. That, no matter how hard I try, will never fit in. _Ever._ ”

“But _Val,_ ” Wyatt drew close and enveloped Matilda in a quiet hug, not caring who saw. “Why are you trying to blend in, when you were born to stand out?”

“Excellent point,” she murmured, biting her lip in a way that sent tingles down Wyatt’s spine.

_11:30 am, Lakefront Gazebo, Camp Wanaka_

“Do you have any other siblings you can turn to?” Wyatt held Matilda’s hand as they walked to the furthest edge of the gazebo, watching the seagulls and other birds mill about, diving and hunting for their lunch.

“My brother Henry. He’s a philosophy major at Middlebury, enjoying academia just like dear old dad. But he’s at a writer’s retreat, and Maya and I’ve been under strict orders not to contact him.”

“Sounds intense, the life of a writer,” remarked Wyatt.

“Oh, you have _no_ idea,” replied Matilda. “He’s won awards and should’ve gotten a huge ego by now, but he’s pretty mellow like my dad. He puts up with my middle-of-the-night panicked phone calls pleading for life advice too. No idea what I’d do without him. I mean, I’m _such_ a problem child…” she trailed off, spotting a seagull in the distance, its feathers an unusual flamingo pink, unlike millions of its cohorts. _I know exactly how you feel_ , she thought to herself as she loosened an earring and burned the letter to a crisp, its smoking ashes scattering past the gazebo’s ledge onto the azure water below.

“Y’know what, Val?” Wyatt spoke up out of the blue. “I know something that might cheer you up.”

_11:45 am, Cardrona Valley Road, Cardrona 9381, New Zealand_

They landed on yellowed, dried grass in a seemingly desolate field, save for a fence half a mile away, which appeared to have a bundle of tiny threads emanating from it. “Um, Wyatt—where _are_ we?” Matilda asked, brushing the soil and dust off her dark leggings. _Thank goodness she wore her grungy ones this morning,_ she thought to herself.

“Let’s walk over there and see,” Wyatt pointed in the distance to the fence. “I heard about this place from a guy in a bar before I left California; he said something about it being really famous eccentric art, so I thought it was worth a visit.”

 _Were they leaves? Colored leaves? Paper? Décor?_ Matilda asked herself as they drew closer, walking on the roughly-hewn gravel path, admiring the open countryside and surrounding agrarian farmland, which, oddly enough, was devoid of cows and horses and any other livestock one might have expected to find in such a locale. They crossed the gravel path onto the jaundiced grass, and continued to their location, wondering what exactly was in store for them.

_Noon, Cardrona Bra Fence, 2125 Cardrona Valley Road, Cardrona 9381, New Zealand_

_Oh wow,_ breathed Matilda, as she and Wyatt drew closer. _Those weren’t ribbons, or threads, or pieces of stray paper at all._ “They’re…”

“— _Bras,”_ finished Wyatt, equally stunned.

“I think I know why it’s famous,” Matilda stated with a smirk, as they observed hundreds upon thousands of bras, of every which size, shape, material, and color, flapping about the wind. There was a certain unspoken hilarity and absurdity of brassieres dangling on a fence that made them rather intrigued, as they strode toward the barbed-wire fence, approximately ten-feet-tall in height.

A large magenta placard along the center of the fence read “Welcome to BraDrona.” Lower down, the sign stated “please take a moment to kindly contribute to the New Zealand Breast Cancer Foundation,” and a Facebook link was listed at the bottom; the pair immediately opened their phones to the page.

“Pretty clever of them to put in a plug for breast cancer awareness,” stated Matilda. Wyatt nodded.

“Puts everything in perspective somehow, doesn’t it?” he remarked, watching as Matilda reviewed the _Atlas Obscura_ website, offering more detail as to this puzzling display.

“Yeah,” she replied. “Listen to _this_ —apparently it all started with a few random bras back in 1999 between Christmas and New Year, then more got added until there were hundreds, and later thousands.”

“That’s a lot of bras,” said Wyatt, upon hearing Matilda’s words.

“Mhmmm…” she muttered to herself, as she scrolled down the website on her screen. “There was one bra theft including over 1500 bras that went missing in 2006, but the number of bras has only grown since then— _oh,_ and there was a failed world record of the largest bra chain—”

“What, like it wasn’t _big enough_ already?” asked Wyatt, his mouth twitching at the corners, as he attempted to maintain a straight face, as Matilda whacked him playfully on the arm. “Ow— _kidding,_ ” he said, massaging where she’d made contact.

“Wonder what happened to the 1500 bras?” Matilda thought aloud. _Enough to fit an entire banquet table from the medieval ages, perhaps._ _Or five standard-dorm-sized bookshelves._

“Maybe there’s a flock of extremely well-dressed seagulls?” Wyatt posited aloud.

“ _Maybe,”_ laughed Matilda, as she removed her jogging jacket, thrusting it at Wyatt’s chest. “Hold this for me, will you?”

“Uh, _Val_ —what’re you doing?” Wyatt watched as Matilda reached beneath her shirt, squirmed for a few seconds, then pulled an undergarment through one of her shirt sleeves. “ _Wait a minute—”_ he spoke as it suddenly dawned on him. “Are you _nuts?_ ”

Matilda giggled as she waved her bra, twirling around in the crisp, cool Aotearoan air. “Just a little,” she professed. “ _Hoist me up, will ya_?” Wyatt looked around; luckily nobody was in sight to witness a couple of magical youth getting their weird on.

Wyatt lifted her up to one of the barbed wire fence bits, where she delicately looped the bra. “For posterity,” she said, her entrancingly curly red hair sparkling in the summery breeze as Wyatt noticed, in that moment, how her shirt front displayed her nubs rather prominently, causing him to sharply exhale. _Does she realize how beautiful she is?_ Wyatt wondered to himself, not for the first time since they’d met, gazing at the lithe form that graced his very presence.

“We should probably head back,” he said aloud, after several more minutes passed. Matilda reached for his arm, and the pair orbed back to Camp Wanaka, just in time for cafeteria clean-up duty.

_2 pm, Lakefront Gazebo, Camp Wanaka_

After a late lunch of leftover Sloppy Joes with Wyatt at the canteen, they returned to each other’s respective housings, showered, changed, and reconvened at the lakefront gazebo once more, to complete their field evaluations.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

_Camp Wanaka_

_Rate your experience (on a scale of 0-10, 10 being best) pilot-testing locations and rationale for your decision:_

_Cardrona Bra Fence, 2125 Cardrona Valley Road, Cardrona 9381, New Zealand_

_Rating: 9_

_Rationale: Eclectic social commentary and art piece focusing on brassieres and feminine beauty; one point docked due to lack of age-appropriateness (e.g., for young grade-schoolers, whose parents might hex us into oblivion if they found out we brought them here)._

_NOTE: Suitable for camp counselors ages 21+. DO NOT BRING UNDERAGE CAMPERS HERE._

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Partly inspired by NZ singer Gin Wigmore's song “Oh My”: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=luhnj7ZPWL4  
> Wyatt’s Micro-House Tiny Cottage: https://thecamp.co.nz/accommodation/little-lake-house/  
> Cardrona Bra Fence, NZ https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/cardrona-bra-fence


	9. HMV: Accessions at Arendalsgata

9 HMV: Accessions at Arendalsgata

_“Så hvis du vil...Bli med meg, eg vil vær' din venn/Når du feiler/Føler at du faller/Reis deg igjen”_

_Translation: “So if you want to ...Join me, I want to be your friend/When you fail/Feeling you are falling/Get up again”_

_–Stina Talling, song “BlimE (Mer Enn God Nok)”_

_Noon, Week 4, Tunco, Torggata 16, 0183, Oslo, Norway_

Macy and Harry surveyed the modern, clean-cut exterior polished wooden walls of the food court’s restaurant; various menu items were listed in white-colored font, followed by the pricing structure. According to a pamphlet Harry read (and from Jordan’s recommendation earlier, before Harry and Macy left Vera Manor), every time one ate at Tunco, a meal was given to a child in need in the tiny village of Mikindani, Kenya, through the restaurant’s partner organization, Star of Hope, so children there received two meals a day, keeping them enrolled in school and improving their attendance rates.

 _A most worthy cause_ , thought Harry to himself, as he and his wife examined the menu. There were so many items to choose from—Indonesian fusion satay, Vietnamese noodles, vegan five-spice tempeh rice noodles, Thai red curry, or the rather intriguing “Surprise Me” entrée. After a few minutes, Macy stepped forward and ordered “The Vegan,” a tantalizing rice noodle meal with tofu, coriander, lime, and “Red Curry Wipeout sauce;” Harry went for the Indonesian “Mentawai” consisting of chicken, egg, rice noodles, peanuts, fresh coriander, and “Satays-faction” sauce, which amused his inner professor self greatly.

_12:10 pm, Tunco, Torggata 16, 0183, Oslo, Norway_

Their noodle dishes arrived in sleek brown carry-out containers, and they began slurping away. “ _Scrumptious,”_ said Harry to Macy. “How’s yours?” pointing to her own meal.

“A little… _spicy_ ,” Macy responded, coughing as her cheeks began turning slightly red. “Can you grab me a cup of water?”

“Sure, love, will do—” Harry returned moments later with matching recyclable plastic cups nearly filled to the brim; Macy took one and drank. “Better?”

Macy nodded. “ _Intense_ ,” she said. “Before we got here, I used to think Oslo would be all about preserved lutefisk or whatever—I didn’t expect the city to have such a variety of food, and for awesome causes too,” she remarked, taking a bite of her snow peas.

Harry chuckled. “This city is certainly full of surprises.” Indeed it was; they had just come from the most recent INTHE4113 “Medical Anthropology” session held at University of Oslo, covering a people-centric approach to health, medicine, society, and culture. Drs. Jakob and Sofie Henrik had invited them to sit in after Macy’s lecture awhile earlier, and they had taken them up on the offer to see what it was like to attend graduate school in Norway, and perhaps learn a new thing or two about medical sociology. It was fascinating examining the social concept of disease and the body in the lenses of Africa, Asia, and Norway, and it was interesting learning more about the globalization of biomedical technologies.

The course itself could be taken by any of the university’s students, though Harry noticed that students enrolled in the M. Phil masters of philosophy program received first priority; he wondered to himself how his own son Henry was doing, off at his very own writing retreat among the densely-wooded forests and trees of Vermont. He hoped his son was being productive in his studies, and not at all distracted by either of his sisters. Henry, like himself, often wished to be of assistance, offering advice whenever asked, though Harry found much to his own consternation that Henry tended to lose sight of his educational studies in the process, whether it was in the form of taking a teary call from Matilda at 4 am the morning before an Aristotelian exam, or proofreading Maya’s modeling bio at 6 pm when he was supposed to be at study group instead.

Macy observed in her read-through of the course that external applicants were welcome too, though of course there were minimal requirements to be met (a Bachelor’s degree, a minimum C average on a Norwegian GPA scale, an English language test, and a major in health or social sciences). _What would a C in Norway equate to in America?_ Macy couldn’t help but wonder, given all she had learned of Norway’s extremely rigorous educational system when they had first dined with the Drs. Henrik. She dug out her phone from her purse and decided to investigate, and quickly found a comparison table online. She cringed— _a C in Norway was the same as a B- in America! And a C in America was the equivalent of a D in Norway!_ “Shit,” she muttered, shoving the screen at Harry, who placed his fork down and reviewed. “I’m starting to feel inadequate.”

“But _why_ , love?” asked Harry, genuinely perplexed. “You’ve already given a lecture on Hypnos, and the professors loved you so much they wanted you to sit in on the rest of the series and do an AMA Reddit thread to share your knowledge. I would think you’d be quite proud.”

“I am,” answered Macy. “But—I had no idea the two systems were so different—it’s kind of…” she searched for the word, “… _scary._ ” She searched for an analogy. “See, Harry, it’s like, when you live in a tiny remote village, and you’re valedictorian—top of the class—then you leave for a big city and find out that everyone else was too, except they’re more prepared because they had more resources. So in currency or inflation or whatever, your perfect A+’s are really Bs. And any B-‘s you get are nearly D’s. And suddenly, we’re all falling behind and none of us realize it. _Somehow, it doesn’t really seem fair_.”

“No it doesn’t, does it?” Harry mused, as he wound another morsel of rice noodles around his fork and raised it to his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Though, I might hasten to add, according to the University of Oslo’s website, a C is considered “good” where there is a “reasonable degree of judgment and independent thinking.” So it’s not as bad as you think, love.”

“True,” reflected Macy, as she sliced a piece of dense, nutty tempeh with her spoon. “Speaking of things requiring independent thinking, what’s next on our bookshop search list?”

“Thought you’d never ask—” Harry pulled his own pen and paper out from his jacket pocket. “The next one is Litteraturhuset, right behind the Royal Palace. Apparently, it provides free office space for authors, and hosts literary events with famous writers.”

“Any I’ve heard of?” Macy asked, as they cleaned their table and tossed their empty lunch cartons in the trash.

“As a matter of fact— _yes._ ” Harry turned to her. “Does the name ‘Zadie Smith’ ring a bell?”

“Oooooh, _yes,_ ” exclaimed Macy, recognizing the name of the author of the book “ _Swing Time_ ,” about two British African ballerinas who take divergent life paths as adults. “ _Seriously?_ ” Harry nodded.

“Though we should probably get going sooner rather than later,” he replied.

“Why’s that?”

“The place is 22 minutes’ walk away from here,” answered Harry, “and I’ve rather grown accustomed to taking the scenic route.” Macy grinned and kissed his cheek, as they walked out of the restaurant, hand-in-hand.

_1 pm, Tunco to Litteraturhuset, Oslo, Norway_

The pair exited Tunco and walked in a southwesterly direction down Torggata, making a turn onto Hammersborggata. They veered right to avoid a major four-lane road, crossing Grubbegata, where they took a set of stairs that led them toward Akersgata, where they turned right. Continuing onward, they made a left onto Keysers gate, followed by a right onto Pilestredet/Rv162, continuing onto St. Olavs Gate/Fv168. Macy noticed a Chinese restaurant and a Filipino church to its left, along with Treider College, and what appeared to be a set of student accommodations.

After some time, they made a right onto Wergelandsveien/Fv168, walking along Slottsparken, a gargantuan tree-filled park surrounding the Royal Palace. Macy noticed bushels of long-stemmed flowers with bright pink petals and magenta centers, which reminded her of a unique variant of black-eyed Susan blossoms, along with a sculpture of a woman that read “Maud Norges Dronning,” surrounded by butter-yellow tulips. Further on, Harry pointed out a whimsical fox sculpture that was rather angular, giving it a pixelated, origami-esque appearance. The second sculpture, a cartoon-like rabbit’s head sticking out of the grassy earth, startled Harry so much he accidentally stepped on Macy’s foot. _Whoops. Sorry love._

They walked through a sandy dirt path encircled on both sides by a thirty-foot-high grove of oak trees, observing the inner palatial grounds from a distance, its boxwood bushes ornately cut into cubic arrangements. _For all the world knew_ , Macy thought to herself, _they could have been mere tourists, out for a weekend afternoon stroll on the town._

They soon found themselves face-to-face with the Litteraturhuset on the right, directly across from a small palace garden fountain, separated from the street by a thin barrier of trees. Macy couldn’t help but feel as though she were within a storybook; every bit of scenery seemed so… _Instagrammable_.

_1:50 pm, Litteraturhuset, Wergelandsveien 29, 0167 Oslo, Norway_

The pair entered the bookshop, unsure of what to expect. According to the map alongside the wall, there were several rooms available to explore: the “Kjelleren” basement, the first floor room “Kverneland,” the upstairs rooms “Nedjma” and its larger counterpart, “Amalie Skram,” and the coffee shop, Kafe Oslo. “How about you take the basement and first floor, and I take the upstairs rooms—then meet at Kafe Oslo after? At, say, 2:30?” Macy proposed, and Harry agreed, taking the stairs to Kjelleren.

_2 pm, Nedjma Room, Litteraturhuset, Wergelandsveien 29, 0167 Oslo, Norway_

Macy found herself in an airy medium-sized room on the second floor, light streaming in through the glass-paned floor-to-ceiling eight-paneled windows. The room was large enough to fit up to ninety people, with a small stage, projector, and sound system, appropriate for small dinners and book launches. According to a nearby placard, Litteraturhuset had inherited author Tron Øgrim’s science fiction collection in 2011, which explained the shelves upon shelves of now-dusty tomes. _The place looked clean, but was there a secret hideaway where Morgana could sleep at night, then leave during the day?_ She hunted all around, touching the minimalistic pillared white walls, running her fingers over the bookshelves, hoping to find a secret compartment or storage area of some sort. _No such luck._

_2:45 pm, Kafe Oslo, Litteraturhuset, Wergelandsveien 29, 0167 Oslo, Norway_

Macy sat across from Harry in what resembled a 1950s communal automat restaurant, with wood chairs, vinyl tablefronts, napkins and silverware at each location, with amber fabric cylindrical light sconces with a hole down the middle, all surrounded by a combination of eight-paneled windows and a series of white bookshelves with various decorative pieces of literature that reminded her of a 1980s-style library. “Any luck?” she asked Harry, who shook his head. “Me neither. I thought maybe Morgana would have found a hidden doorway or something, or a room beneath a bookshelf, but _nothing_. What’s next on our list?”

Harry pulled out his pen and paper. “ _Bislet Bok_ ,” he read aloud, “a one-room bookshop in Bislett, with books overflowing to outside.”

“Hmm…” Macy thought aloud. “That sounds more Morgana’s style, but a bookshop overflowing with only one room doesn’t sound spacious enough. For the sake of time—what’s the next shop after that?”

“ _Sagene Bok og Papir,_ ” recited Harry, “which directly translates to “Book and Paper.” _How very quaint._ ” He reviewed his notes from earlier. “It’s just north of city center, opened circa 1936, and is run by a Miss Angelique and Signe. It’s cozy with plenty of travel literature. Thirty-seven minutes away—or, we could…” he trailed off.

“ _Orb,_ Harry. Let’s orb,” Macy said finally, and Harry beamed.

“Thought you’d never ask!” he said gleefully as they walked out onto the adjoining sidewalk, crossed the street, and made for the nearest Royal Palace five-foot shrubbery to avoid being seen.

_2:50 pm, Sagene Bok og Papir, Arendalsgata 12, 0463 Oslo, Norway_

They landed with a muffled _thump_ behind a large tree and, after dusting themselves off, crossed the street to the bookshop, which upon entering, immediately reminded Macy of a stationery store she had visited awhile ago in a different city… _what was it called? Paper Sword? Paper Purse?_ She couldn’t remember, as she spotted cute little triangle-cut pastel-hued banner flags fluttering, taped to the insides of the storefront window.

Harry walked toward a 1,000-piece puzzle set atop a crowded table, and Macy stopped to look at the greeting cards to Harry’s left, touching the recycled paper to determine whether magic had been used in the location lately. She gasped as a handful of rainbow sparks emanated from the greeting card she held, and Harry gaped, transfixed by the strange and beautiful display. Macy whirled around and spotted flaming copper curls, attached to a rather dewy young woman, who yelped in surprise and fled to the back of the store, slamming the door shut behind her. The pair gave chase, yanking the door open and sprinting to the only lit room in the corridor—the windowed stockroom, with its coffee table, stacks of books, and brocaded bell-shaped lampshades scattered throughout.

“ _Morgana!”_ Harry yelled, banging on the stockroom door, not caring who saw him.

“Morgana, we know it’s you!” Macy cried aloud. “We’re not mad—we just need to know what happened—”

With that, the stockroom door suddenly swung open, causing the pair to tumble to the ground at Morgana’s feet.

_3:20 pm, Stockroom, Sagene Bok og Papir, Arendalsgata 12, 0463 Oslo, Norway_

Macy and Harry sipped their coffee, unable to fully believe they were seated across from Morgana herself, the woman they had been searching for, for weeks—as more of a welfare check than anything else, as they already knew she was alive at this point. As a precaution, Harry inserted a droplet of coffee onto his keychain medallion to check for possible contamination or substances that would put themselves in a stupor— _one line for contaminated, two lines if safe_. _Two lines. They were in the clear._

“Morgana, we know you received a succubus bite that made you younger, assuming you stayed in Norway, but _do_ help us fill in the missing pieces—please?” Harry began, as he and Macy regarded the woman, whose freckles stood out even more as her pallor waned.

Morgana stared at her own cup of coffee. In true Nordic tradition, the coffee pot contained lightly-brewed, low acidity _kokekaffe,_ by boiling water and steeping the coffee; this made for a lower caffeine content ( _much to Macy’s silent dismay_ ), but meant that the average Norwegian imbibed 4-5 cups in what likely would have been a silent, contemplative manner. _Or so Harry imagined. Brits and Norwegians really aren’t so different after all,_ he mused to himself.

“I helped a young succubus single mother bear her child without pain medication—” Morgana began, as Macy and Harry visibly winced. “There was no time, you see,” she added hurriedly, “and all I had was a towel, so I asked her to bite it to ‘cut the pain’—the towel shifted during one of her contractions”

“—And you were bitten?” Macy asked, and Morgana nodded. “I didn’t notice the marks at first, nor the blood—there was so much, _everywhere_. I’d just assumed it was hers. Only after the newborn was placed in her arms and they rested in another room, did I finally experience the pain.”

_3:50 pm, Stockroom, Sagene Bok og Papir, Arendalsgata 12, 0463 Oslo, Norway_

The conversation continued. “So where did you go after that?” Macy asked. “Why didn’t you ask any of us to help you? Harry could’ve orbed—”

“All in good time,” Morgana answered. “I was lightheaded and delirious from blood loss, but once I cleaned myself up and applied bandages, the bleeding stopped. The woman and baby were set up with ample pre-prepared meals I had made in advance to last a month, not to mention formula just in case. After my week there was up, I walked outside to the Royal Palace Park for fresh air, to clear my mind. I noticed that my mind was sharper than of late, my eyesight had dramatically improved, and the collagen hanging from my upper arms had smoothened itself practically overnight. _It was then I knew_ —”

“That you were becoming… _younger?_ ” finished Harry in a low voice.

“ _Precisely_. This was the start of week 2. My centuries-plus outer lining became ninety, eighty, sixty-years-old, then fifty, and finally tapering off around thirty or forty years of age. It was then I knew I had to find a job— _a way to make a living_ —and figure out what to make of the mess I’d gotten myself into. I happened to walk across the street to a cozy bookstore that reminded me of an earlier, bygone era, and instantly felt at home in this faraway, distant land.” Morgana took a sip of her coffee, and so did Harry and Macy, from their own cups as well. “They were advertising for a seasonal bookseller, and once they found out I spoke several languages and could help with the influx of tourists, they practically hired me on the spot.”

“ _Impressive_ ,” murmured Macy, despite herself. “But where’ve you been living all this time? I’m surprised we hadn’t seen you out and about till now.”

“Upstairs in the spare bedroom, earning my keep,” Morgana replied simply.

“When are you coming home?” Harry bluntly asked and for this Macy was glad, as she hadn’t the courage to ask herself, for fear of familial rejection. It was hard enough losing Marisol for decades; her heart couldn’t handle losing another.

“I was going to come home after the second week, but truth be told, I did so well with the bookstore that Angelique proposed extending my contract indefinitely. And, _well_ ,” she said, gesturing all about her, “here I am. My bones feel so much more youthful, my mind is less burdened, my arthritis has vanished, and it feels _amazing_ to be retired, even if it meant _pulling a Merlin_ —”

“I _beg your pardon_?” Harry asked quizzically. “ _Pulling_ a _Merlin?_ ”

“Disappearing, Harry—she means _disappearing_ ,” interjected Macy.

“Right you are, Macy. I always knew you were the smart one,” Morgana remarked, as Macy hid a smile and Harry was unsure of whether to be proud of his wife or insulted on his own behalf.

“Besides,” said Morgana, her finger drawing an invisible infinity symbol on the side of her cup, “your children are all grown—they don’t need my help anymore.”

“What about Matias?” asked Macy then. “Doesn’t he need you?”

“He’s a big boy,” Morgana airily responded. “In case you hadn’t noticed, he’s more than capable of caring for himself.”

“What about Matilda?” asked Macy.

“ _What about her?_ ” Morgana responded. “What, has something happened to my poppet?” Macy noticed a flicker of concern behind those emerald eyes of hers and realized that she could perhaps use this to her and Harry’s advantage.

“You might say that…” Harry glanced at Macy, his voice trailing off. _How much do we tell her?_ Harry’s eyes seemed to ask. _As much we need to convince Morgana to come home_ , Macy wordlessly indicated.

“A drunk grabbed her from behind while she was at her night shift at Tessera—” Macy began and Morgana gasped. “No, don’t worry, _she’s ok!_ ” added Macy hurriedly. “Problem is, she lost her temper, and accidentally set fire to the place.”

 _“Juvenile delinquent,”_ Harry coughed under his breath, as Macy poked him in the ribs.

“ _Oh_. Oh _my_ ,” gasped Morgana, momentarily at a loss for words. “What _spirit!”_ she exclaimed, then observed their faces and backtracked. “I…I _mean_ …the damages _._ Awful, simply _awful._ She removed her earrings, didn’t she?” They nodded in tandem. “Oh, dear. What’s to become of the lass?” Morgana never played favorites outwardly, as much as she could help it, but Matilda was a girl after her own heart, with similarly crimson hair and an equally stubborn personality to boot.

“She’s in New Zealand—” Harry started.

“ _New Zealand!”_ Morgana gasped. “You sent her _away?_ The poor child!”

“Don’t feel so sorry for her, Morgana,” Macy responded drily. “Matilda’s doing mandatory community service at Camp Wanaka, a camp for magical children. She’ll be back to Vera Manor and Epicenter Pico No, 23 in four weeks. But if you must know, she’s really missed you and could use a talking-to, _in my opinion_.”

A pregnant pause ensued for the next few moments, as Harry, Macy, and Morgana gave furtive glances toward each other, then sipped the remainder of their respective coffee.

“ _Fine,_ ” Morgana said at last.

“Fine…?” inquired Macy.

“I’ll go back for _her_ ,” stated Morgana matter-of-factly. “But give me the next weeks to enjoy myself before the succubus bite wears out— _no idea when that’ll be_ —could be never. I’ve felt so burnt out and haven’t had a decent vacation in a century. And I have a list of demands.”

Macy and Harry looked at each other in alarm. _They hadn’t bargained for this._ “Er… _demands_?” Harry asked uncertainly.

“Two in particular. One: I want retirement,” Morgana stated firmly. “No _if’s, and’s,_ or _but’s_. I’m done being an obstetrician, and I finally want to enjoy the gardening and market shopping Matias has been on my case about. Which means I’ll need to hire a replacement.”

“And the second?” Macy asked.

“I want someone from this family to contact me at least once a week—preferably in person or by phone, but if not, email or text will do. I’d like to know I have a family every now and then.”

“Shouldn’t be too difficult, right, love?” murmured Harry to Macy, who silently agreed. _This seemed feasible enough._ “Do we have a deal, Morgana?” The red-haired lady nodded, and the three shook hands—and hugged.

“ _We’ve missed you so much, Morgana_ ,” whispered Macy, as she embraced the woman. Breaking away, they regarded each other carefully. “Please come home soon?” she asked, her eyes pleading.

Morgana smiled enigmatically. “When I’m ready. Trust me?”

“We do,” answered Harry this time, as he motioned for Macy and himself to depart, walking down the darkened corridor to the main bookstore area. Macy looked back to see the curly-haired woman waving at them both before the stockroom closed once more.

_5 pm, Outside Sagene Bok og Papir, Arendalsgata 12, 0463 Oslo, Norway_

Macy reached for her phone and sent a group text to Maggie, Mel, and Matilda ( _Henry was busy at a writer’s retreat, and Maya was preoccupied with a fashion shoot and a neuroscience presentation that afternoon_ ):

_We found Morgana, alive and well._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tunco and Meal for Meal cause: https://www.tunco.no/  
> University of Oslo course: https://www.uio.no/studier/emner/medisin/inthealth/INTHE4113/  
> Norwegian vs US GPA system: https://www.google.com/search?q=norwegian+grading+system&rlz=1CDGOYI_enUS835US835&oq=norwegian+grad&aqs=chrome.1.69i57j0l3.4957j0j7&hl=en-US&sourceid=chrome-mobile&ie=UTF-8#imgrc=yASx_-6bChOccM  
> “Swing Time” by Zadie Smith: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Swing_Time_(novel)  
> Litteraturhuset Oslo: https://litteraturhuset.no/en/home/  
> Sagene Bok og Papir (Bokhandel): https://sageneavis.no/arets-bokhandel-ligger-i-bydel-sagene/19.2051


	10. MMV: Rocking the Boat

10 MMV: Rocking the Boat

_“You’ve got that kind of love that I’ve been dreaming of/I know what I see, and you’re incredible/You’ve got what I need and I can’t let you go…”_

_–MAALA, Kind of Love_

_1 pm, Week 5, Lake Wanaka Marina, Roys Bay, Lakeside Road, Wanaka 9305, New Zealand_

“You’ve _seriously_ never gone sailing before?” Wyatt asked incredulously, tying various sailor knots along silver metal-hooked features on the structure that resembled infinity symbols. Matilda shook her head.

“Ok, well, for starters—here’s some key language,” Wyatt began. Matilda rolled her eyes. _Another lesson._ “Matilda,” he said in a moodier voice that sent pleasant tingles down her spine, “ _I’m serious_. Do you want to stay on the boat or accidentally capsize?” Matilda bade him continue.

 _“Ok then,”_ he said. “Basically, the aft is the back of the boat, aka the stern. The front of the boat is the bow. Port is left, and starboard is right. Leeward (or “lee”) is opposite to the wind. The boom is this pole,” he rapped his knuckles on the horizontal structure extending from the bottom of the mast.

“Haha, _boom_ ,” Matilda snickered, unable to help herself; she had an extremely juvenile sense of humor and knew it.

“ _Val_ ,” Wyatt said. “I’m _warning_ you…” he resumed talking. “The rudder is a flat piece under the boat to steer; tacking changes the wind from one side to the other, via the boom.”

“ _Or what?”_ Matilda penetrated his personal space, stroking his beach-blond hair as he closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of coconut-lime emanating from her soft hand. In the past couple of weeks, their overtures had included holding hands or hugging as a means of emotional comfort or stroking the other’s hair when the senior-level counselors weren’t looking. There wasn’t an anti-fraternization law on the camp rulebooks, but both Wyatt and Matilda still wanted to play things safe. Matilda had come to appreciate the splendor of Camp Wanaka’s placid surroundings; neither of them wanted a camper or coworker to accidentally walk in on them, which would undoubtedly result in suspension of duties, or at worst, expulsion without a letter of recommendation, which both of them needed to enter the working world.

 _And Matilda knew her only hope at finding a job was the magical realm_.

Her at-times volatile temper meant that she needed to seek permanent employment in a place that was not only fireproof, but where her conflagration skills were accepted, openly welcomed, and understood, instead of landing her in prison, or worse, in a medical research facility for the rest of her life. Someplace that appreciated her brains and didn’t begrudge her for being a woman. From what she understood of her mother Macy’s tales about Whitelighters and the Elders of yore, the magical realm was pretty progressive, and tended to employ women just as much, if not more than, men.

Matilda recalled the website she’d read over breakfast in “incognito mode,” detailing the possible career paths of a being such as herself. Apparently, it was possible to become a sous-chef, with her hot-tempered ability to set fires instantaneously, but she crossed that off her list as she imagined it would make her blood pressure skyrocket—and that wouldn’t be conducive to one’s longevity, magical or not. Other options included camp counselor or special effects designer; the first was only a hobby, and the second seemed a bit out of reach. It required a bachelor’s degree, which was certainly feasible, but also required knowledge of industry-standard software programs such as RenderMan. _Was that, like Slender Man?_ She had no idea. The website also recommended borrowing books from the library on anatomy and movement ( _bad idea for a walking fire hazard)_ , going to ballet performances (ew, _why_ ), and taking trips to the zoo to observe animals ( _she was opposed to the capture of animals for human enjoyment_ ). Also, her attention span was semi-nonexistent at times. _So what should she do instead?_

It was then that she spotted a career listing for a consultant, defined online as “a person who provides expert advice professionally.” _On anything, it seemed_ , she thought to herself as she reviewed the page, as her smile broadened into a grin. Even though her fire abilities seemed a lifelong curse, she had memorized roughly thirty different shades of colors typically associated with flammability; perhaps she could turn that into a lucrative career, honing in on designers and marketing companies looking to redo their logos? _The possibilities, it seemed, were endless…_

_1:30 pm, Sailboat, Lake Wanaka, Wanaka 9305, New Zealand_

The sailboat pitched and swerved as Wyatt continued navigating against the northwest wind, a mere three miles per hour, but which felt like more at times. Once they had gone further asunder and the breeze died down, Wyatt pitched his anchor and they lay on their backs, staring at the clouds in the expansive sky overhead.

“Do you ever think about what comes next?” Matilda asked suddenly, turning to face him, a mere several inches away.

“Next?” Wyatt asked quizzically. “Like…next…career steps? Life?” He laughed. “That’s kind of an open-ended question, Val,” he said, reaching over to stroke her crimson curls.

“Y’know, after camp, when we leave to go home, or even after we get older,” she responded. “What’re you going to do next?”

Wyatt paused to think this question over. “Honestly, if I could, I’d never leave this camp—but since it’s only going to be open two months of every year, I gotta keep my options open.”

“Your options being…?” Matilda’s legs found themselves intertwined with Wyatt’s, as she touched his brightly-colored hair.

“…Becoming a Whitelighter, an Elder-in-Training, a teacher, or a consultant,” he replied. “But I’m not thrilled about _just_ orbing, day after day, being in the service of someone else. I mean, I like being a free agent too much for _that_. My Great-Aunt Paige doesn’t want me being an Elder-in-Training because she heard how a bunch were killed off around 2019 when the next Charmed Ones ascended—”

“My mom and my aunts, you mean,” clarified Matilda.

Wyatt nodded. “Paige doesn’t want to lose me too. Which I _totally_ get since her mom was killed at Camp Skylark. It’s actually how she got the idea for Camp Wanaka—to create a magic camp in Great-Grandma Patty’s memory and all.”

“Wow, that’s really cool,” Matilda answered, impressed. “I didn’t know.” After a beat, she resumed speaking. “What about becoming a teacher? I think you’d be good at that, I mean, you’ve helped _me,_ and I’m literally the _worst—_ ”

Wyatt laughed aloud. “You put in the hard work, Val, and I wish you’d stop being so hard on yourself.” In a more serious tone, he continued. “Teaching would work with my camp schedule, but I’d have problems trying to suppress my orbing abilities.”

“Like how I have fire issues?”

“Yeah, more or less,” replied Wyatt. “Imagine if I was triple-booked with back-to-back classes _and_ a spur-of-the-moment parent meeting about why their kid flunked their PE exam, with a morning assembly after all _that_. And what if I had an off day, was really tired, and accidentally orbed while addressing hundreds of kids and their teachers at said assembly? I’d have to call someone in to memory wipe them _all_ —”

“ _Oof_ ,” Matilda could imagine the resulting chaos and the media maelstrom. “Yeah, I don’t blame you. I guess that leaves one other job path then?”

“I guess,” said Wyatt, “being a consultant means being a jack-of-all-trades—once I move up the food chain, I can adjust my hours, work at camp over the summer, and do what I want without freaking everyone out.” His toes touched hers, and they played a several-second haphazard game of footsie, which abruptly ended after Matilda was nearly tossed overboard (thankfully, Wyatt’s arm reached out and yanked her back onto dry ground).

“You ok?” he asked, checking her for any scratches. She nodded imperceptibly and sighed, as they sat down once more. He placed his arm around her as she buried her face in his shoulder, her crimson, glittering curls covering the length of his faded t-shirt. He rubbed her back in what he hoped was a soothing motion. _Wondering, thinking, in the back of his mind, what it would be like to take a piece in his mouth, observing its spring and sprightly movement, as he gently led her toward his bed and she made a come-hither motion with that dainty finger of hers, lifting her tank top to—_

“That’s the thing about magic, isn’t it?” Matilda murmured, jolting Wyatt out of his sensual daydream. “We have strange gifts that scare others. And it’s up to us to figure out how to use them without hurting the people we love.”

“ _R-right_ ,” Wyatt stammered, then recovered himself. “I prefer,” he said, “to think of them as ‘tools of empowerment,’ to help make the world a better place.”

“Huh,” mused Matilda aloud. “Tools of empowerment _. I like that_.” She smiled as she kissed one of his locks of hair, surprising herself with her sudden boldness.

“Oh, really?” answered Wyatt, attempting to sound casual. “There anything else you like?” His eyes began to dilate as he surveyed her form, curvy, slender, and exquisite as always, his visage now inches away from hers.

“ _You_ ,” whispered Matilda. “ _I like_ _you_.”

_1:50 pm, Sailboat, Lake Wanaka, Wanaka 9305, New Zealand_

Their lips met in a heated fervor, as Matilda found one of her hands pinned to the boat as the other grabbed Wyatt’s ass, drawing his form nearer to her. She would have worried about whether they’d be seen, but they were so far from shore that the possibility of being spotted was remote. She felt the stiffness of his length along her thigh, and she welcomed it as they engaged in a close tango of cacophonous, frenetic bouts of kissing, _much in the way of horny high-schoolers in the backseat of one’s Buick, or whatever car it was back in the 1960s_ , Matilda thought to herself, as she felt the rutting of Wyatt’s hardness repeatedly making contact with her upper thigh, as they continued to make out without a single care in the world. _Fuck, this felt amazing_.

_8 pm, Wanaka Lakefront, Ardmore Street, Wanaka 9305, New Zealand_

Knapsack on her back, she smoothed her hands over her navy blue _Jain_ v-neck low-cut mini dress, with its airy _blouson_ long eyelet sleeves, the form-fitting ensemble cropped at an elevated angle so that it was closer to her upper thighs and crotch than her kneecaps. _A risky choice,_ she knew, _but one to tantalize._ Matilda sported a long wraparound _Von Furstenberg-_ style black sweater which she wore in the company of the other counselors, who talked casually amongst themselves, unaware of the fact that she and her _oh-so-sexy_ division partner, Wyatt, had spent the earlier half of the afternoon in a heavy make-out session that would no doubt scandalize the director, if made known.

Matilda checked the movie screen. _Good._ The boats? _Motoring and taking in each set of assigned kids._ Tealights? _Ambient as ever_ , she thought with satisfaction, as she observed their glow emanating from the sides of the movie screen, with the addition of tiki torches around the pier for added visibility.

She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned around. _Wyatt_. She grinned. “Shall we?” he offered his arm and she took it as he led her onto one of the broad red-and-white boats. He entered the covered room containing the driver’s seat and began steering, making his way to a particularly dark outfield-like corner of the lake where she noticed none of the tealights’ reflected shimmers had even begun to touch. _Perhaps he’d done this on purpose?_ The thought struck her as he parked, and exiting the covered room, threw down the anchor.

_8:30 pm, Red-and-White Boat, Wanaka Lakefront, Ardmore Street, Wanaka 9305, New Zealand_

The movie had begun, and Matilda and Wyatt were cloistered within the covered room, its windowpanes allowing them both to view the grand-scale film from a distance. “What’s our job today?” asked Matilda, peering over at the tiny boats that appeared to be red dots from where they were situated.

“Nothing, except watch if a camper tries to leap off the boat and swim to shore or transform into a flamingo and eat another camper that turned into a fish. Why?” Wyatt made mention of one of his previous tutorials from earlier that week, in which he had given a swim test to a group of campers. One camper grew impatient at having had to tread water for ten minutes straight, and transformed into a catfish; another camper, deciding she was hungry, decided to turn into a fluorescent pink flamingo and eat said catfish, which resulted in both being sent to the infirmary, luckily with no long-term effects except for two weeks’ suspension and a temporary magic ban. _Kids these days,_ thought Wyatt to himself, shaking his head at the time.

“Oh, no reason,” Matilda responded, noticing that there was standing room only in this enclosed area, save for the driver’s seat, which Wyatt currently occupied. She slowly unraveled her Von Furstenberg sweater, which dropped to the ground, and sat on Wyatt’s lap, as he inhaled sharply, as if caught off guard.

“W-wow Val—” he stammered, noticing just how high Matilda’s tight dress went— _nearly up to her creamy thigh_ —“you look really— _really_ —” he swallowed hard as he found himself straddled by Matilda’s sinewy legs, “ _beautiful.”_ He felt himself harden, hoping that this tantalizing goddess before him wouldn’t notice, trying to shift himself this way and that _,_ awkwardly trying to distract his mind from her luscious curls, her beguiling smile, and _—oh!—_ her hands, which snaked down to his trouser shorts, unbuttoning and pulling his stiffened self out from his fabric confinement, leaking with the tiniest droplets, which she rubbed with the pad of her thumb, causing him to throw his neck back and groan with frustration, coupled with pure, unadulterated pleasure. _She had known all along, just how to tease him and drive him utterly wild._

“ _Fuck, Valensi,”_ he muttered into the bed of curls that wound around his visage, as he involuntarily thrusted into Matilda’s grasp, as she rubbed his length with an unprecedented vigor. His once-cream-colored complexion now showed bright patches of red upon his cheeks, as he felt himself pumping, his balls coursing with silvery liquid threads, toward his fast-approaching apex. “ _How—”_ he began, “— _do you_ — _want to_ — _do_ — _this_?” Wyatt asked between gasps, as Matilda’s hand tightly encircled his hardness. Without answering, she ducked down below and kissed his exposed self, then took him into her mouth as he bucked, grasping her curls tightly in his fist, his other hand holding the steering wheel for dear life. _Holy Hera and all that was horny, that felt magnificent…_ he could feel the familiar rivulets deliciously coursing through his pulsating veins, as he muttered “ _soon—Val—”_

 _“What’s my name?”_ Matilda paused for a moment and stared him straight in the eyes.

“M-Matilda—” Wyatt stammered, trying to suppress a groan.

“That’s _right,”_ she whispered, before taking him within her mouth, her lips surrounding his length; he could practically see stars.

“Ohhh— _Matilda!”_ he hissed, “ _ohhhh—"_ shuddering as he thrust one final time, causing wave upon wave of his essence to spurt forth, as Matilda swallowed in the seconds that followed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by NZ artist MAALA's "Kind of Love": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cFzJO0e1gv8  
> Sailing Basics 101: https://www.discoverboating.com/resources/sailing-basics-10-nautical-sailing-terms-to-know  
> Becoming a Special Effects Artist: https://entertainment.howstuffworks.com/special-effects-artist.htm#pt2  
> Matilda/Navy Dress: https://www.revolve.com/lovers-friends-jain-mini-dress-in-deep-navy/dp/LOVF-WD1483/?d=Womens


	11. HMV: Einar Rose & Fuglen Text

11 HMV: Einar Rose & Fuglen Text

_“Du danser inni hodet mitt/…Baby I love you/Jeg er farlig når jeg er sånn…”_

_Translation: “You dance inside my head/…Baby, I love you/I'm dangerous when I'm like that…”_

_-Unge Ferrari, song “Balkong”_

_5 pm, Week 4, Outside Sagene Bok og Papir, Arendalsgata 12, 0463 Oslo, Norway_

Macy reached for her phone and sent a group text to Maggie, Mel, and Matilda ( _Henry was busy at a writer’s retreat, and Maya was preoccupied with a fashion shoot and a neuroscience presentation that afternoon_ ):

_We found Morgana, alive and well._

_7 pm, Week 5, Hotel Room, Hotel Christiania Teater, Stortingsgata 16, 0161 Oslo, Norway_

Macy surveyed herself in the mirror, not for the first time, wondering whether the short-sleeved _Olivera: Zac Posen_ cocktail dress was appropriate for her 8 pm rendezvous, its mysterious, enigmatic dark electric blue and shadowy black hues positively beckoning for her to try it on, when she had purchased it earlier that day at a local boutique. What attracted her to the _Olivera_ outfit was that the item would provide 79 essential supplies for a family in need through Save the Children, and she felt a certain level of obligation to give back to society after having achieved a relative level of success in her scientific career pursuits. _Only one way to find out._

_8 pm, Outside Fuglen, Universitetsgata 2, 0164 Oslo, Norway_

The coffee bar had a bright cranberry-red circular logo, depicting a bird launched upwards into flight. Macy counted exactly twelve minimalist wood tables spaced apart by equal lengths, affixed to what appeared to be slotted park benches on the side closest to the café’s walls, with wooden chairs on their opposite side. A warm lamplit glow emanated from within the shop, as she read the signage aloud, guessing that “ _Te”_ was “tea.” She noticed a man sitting behind the glass wall, his attention toward whatever newspaper he was catching up with at that time of the evening, his dark reading glasses framing the chestnut silky hair that framed his visage—Norway certainly had its share of extremely attractive men, but this was the first time she’d seen a dark-haired gentleman—oh _wait_ —she gave a start—that’s _Harry._ She laughed to herself as she entered the sleek black metal-rimmed reflective glass doors.

_8:01 pm, Fuglen, Universitetsgata 2, 0164 Oslo, Norway_

Harry read the English-language _Aftenposten_ (“The Evening Post”), peering curiously at the upper-righthand page, noticing a familiar bun of curly auburn and greying hair, when he felt two lithe arms embrace him from behind, causing him to sport a lopsided smile as he turned around and kissed her squarely on the lips. He noticed that she was dressed in a rather form-fitting ebony and feathery indeterminate, mysterious shade of blue. “ _Love_ ,” he murmured into her tawny curls, “you look absolutely _divine._ ”

“I could say the same about you,” Macy murmured, stroking his slicked-back chestnut hair between her fingers, kissing him again, this time on his forehead, as she took the seat beside him to face the coffee bar’s glass window, and the grey cobblestone street before them. Glancing behind her, she was pleasantly surprised to notice vintage décor in various corners, teak wood furnishings, a jukebox, and what appeared to be menus situated on clipboards throughout the cozy, eclectic establishment. Spotting one nearby her seat, she stood and regarded the beverage offerings. Words such as “ _Vinglet, Einar Rose, Balder Belafonte, and Galetangs”_ intrigued her, as she perused the various listed ingredients for each heady concoction. The _Balder Belafonte_ had coconut and lime elements, but Macy was in a slightly more adventurous mood, opting for a _Brutal Barista_ when she walked to the main counter to place her order.

“Harry— _Harry!_ ” Macy beckoned him over. “What do you want to drink?”

After a second’s pause, he replied, “ _Cuckoo’s Nest_.” The pair returned to their respective seats, continuing to people-watch as late-night employees streamed past from the Borgarting Iagmannstrett courthouse, a mere block away. _There must have been quite a court trial_ , Macy imagined, _to have so many people leaving the building at such a late hour._ Norwegians, she learned upon first arriving to the country, took their work-life balance _quite_ seriously, and were ranked, according to an online article she’d read, as the third-best country in the world for such matters.

_8:20 pm, Fuglen, Universitetsgata 2, 0164 Oslo, Norway_

Their drinks arrived, and Harry tasted his own chartreuse concoction, garnished with tiny sprouts of wood sorrel; the cucumber invigorated his palate, which was followed by a sudden burst of anise and caraway from the mixed-in Aquavit. Macy’s own amber-colored drink had a touch of coffee, coupled with vermouth, Campari, and sweetened crowberry syrup, garnished with a bamboo toothpick through a candied grapefruit peel atop the glass. _Wow_ , they thought to themselves, exchanging glances. “ _Delicious,”_ muttered Macy, and Harry agreed.

“Switch glasses to taste?” asked Harry, and they did for the next minute or so. As the overhead ethereal music continued on, Macy aimed her phone toward the speaker using her SoundHound app to determine the artist. After a minute, the app revealed the piece to be Unge Ferrari’s “ _Balkong.”_ Macy inserted the lyrics into Google Translate, transfixed by the dark-sounding and altogether haunting melody. _If Dark Harry had a song, this would surely be it,_ she thought to herself, as she waited for the English language translation to appear.

_8:22 pm, Fuglen, Universitetsgata 2, 0164 Oslo, Norway_

Macy stared at her phone and sucked her breath in sharply. The translation of the first two lines nearly had her reeling, thinking, _hurtling_ back to those… _nightmares? Dreamscapes?_ Of what she knew to have been Harry— _looked_ like him, _smelled_ like him—but talked differently.

_“The devil is dressed…/Always keeping an eye on me…”_

_“Djevelen er kledd…Holder alltid øye med meg…”_

She shuddered, recalling how his breath had come so close to her lips in the Vera Manor room in the middle of the night in her fever dream, shadows of plum, cerulean, and ochre dancing across the walls of the house as he walked forward deliberately, knowing she was utterly powerless to his rapacious advances.

 _“You dance inside my head/_ _Want to see someone, I'm locked up again…”_

 _“Du danser inni hodet mitt/_ Vil'ke se noen, jeg har låst meg inn igjen…”

Harry took another sip of his drink then looked over at Macy, whose hands were now clenching the tabletop so that her knuckles were whitened. “M-Macy, are you alright love?” He grabbed and shook her by the shoulders, thinking her to be in a flashback, or similar. “ _Macy!_ ” he exclaimed, finally capturing Macy’s dazed attention. “ _You’ve seen something._ What is it?” he asked. She shook her head, unable to speak—to formulate the words—knowing that to disclose the memories, the nightmares, the fever dreams evoked by the song, _triggered_ by the song—would be to finally give her hallucinations a name.

_“…Jeg er farlig når jeg er sånn…”_

_“…Baby, I love you/I'm dangerous when I'm like that…”_

Macy took several deep breaths, waiting for the song to fade away, which was soon replaced by a flirty and whimsical “Dance Dance Dance” song by Norwegian pop star Astrid S. “ _Just a trigger,”_ she whispered, her head now in her hands as a couple of tears spilled forth onto her cheeks.

_9 pm, Fuglen, Universitetsgata 2, 0164 Oslo, Norway_

“ _Darling,_ ” Harry lifted Macy’s head and kissed her tears, wiping them away with his ever-handy starched handkerchief.

“You’re always prepared,” Macy nearly choked out the words.

“It’s my job, as the family Whitelighter,” remarked Harry, as he enveloped her in a gentle embrace. “How are you now?” he asked, as Macy sniffed loudly.

“ _B-better_ ,” she murmured. “Especially since you’re here. With _me_ ,” she all but whispered.

_9:02 pm, Outside Fuglen, Universitetsgata 2, 0164 Oslo, Norway_

Harry and Macy exited the bar to traverse back to the hotel when a mop of curly auburn hair caught their eye. Ducking into an unlit corner, Harry covered Macy’s mouth to prevent her from speaking aloud. Once the unusually youthful thirty-something had passed them both, Harry uncovered Macy’s mouth as they stared at the wavy-haired figure fast growing distant, heading in the direction of Othilia Bar at Grand Hotel Oslo, known for its citrus cocktails…and its extremely attractive, wealthy clientele.

“ _Was that—”_ Macy breathed aloud. Harry nodded.

“ _Morgana_ ,” they said in unison.

“Should we follow her? Tell whoever she meets that she’s a centuries-old witch?” Macy wondered aloud. “There’s nothing in the Book of Elders about stuff like this…” she trailed off, uncertain, gazing up at Harry.

To Macy’s surprise, Harry shook his head. “ _No,_ ” he responded, sympathetic to the older woman’s plight, being immortal himself and thoroughly overworked in his heyday. “Best let her enjoy her youth while she still has it. Though I’d recommend you text Matilda to convince her grandmother to return home.”

“Roger that, _Mr. Valensi,_ ” she answered. “Though I must ask—just _how_ would a twenty-one-year-old convince a youthful grandma to come back, pray tell?”

“There’s always the old-fashioned way,” Harry replied, as he held his wife’s hand, crossing the next couple of blocks, the streets themselves nearly deserted save for a lone car or two.

“What’s that?”

He smiled to himself. “ _Letter-writing."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuglen—Coffeeshop by Day, and a Cocktail Bar by Night: http://www.barstalker.de/en/fuglen-coffee-shop-during-the-daytime-and-a-bar-during-the-nighttime/  
> Norwegian Work-Life Balance: https://www.google.com/amp/s/www.tnp.no/norway/economy/norway-is-the-third-best-country-for-work-life-balance%3Famp  
> Zac Posen cocktail dress: https://www.olivela.com/products/zac-posen-short-sleeve-cocktail-dress-226963?campaignId=10322452783&gclid=Cj0KCQjwyJn5BRDrARIsADZ9ykGc1poJDCg0GfMEZSIe2rrUL_ze7trLZ_9mXXVREyd82dqtfEuTciAaAjcEEALw_wcB  
> SoundHound: https://www.soundhound.com/  
> Balkong song by Unge Ferrari: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=H6Umh0uRQtg (If Dark Harry were Norwegian, this would be his song...)  
> Dance dance dance song by Astrid S.: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=1f0-LUaYy4M


	12. MMV: Bayliner Bravery & Crimson

12 MMV: Bayliner Bravery & Crimson

_“I didn’t call you back, my fault/Some days I don’t talk at all/…Truth is I locked myself in/And I don’t know what to do…” –Astrid S., Dance Dance Dance_

_10 am, Lawn Outside Lakefront Gazebo, Camp Wanaka_

Matilda and Paige surveyed the set design for the campers’ final theater project; the theme was “Hello/Goodbye” and the scenery depicted a vermillion sunset with a bevy of red, orange, yellow, and golden hues overlooking what appeared to be a depiction of the gazebo, the expansive lake, and the surrounding Southern Alps.

The carmine, darker rhubarb red, the nearly-indistinguishable-from-rhubarb-red cranberry, and the red wine color that reminded Matilda of her mother’s preference for claret-hued lipstick all combined together to form a veritable symphony of pigment textures, much to the pair’s satisfaction, as they placed the finishing touches of gloss to waterproof the artwork. Matilda had been pulled out of her typical junior division early morning duties with Wyatt to perform last minute touch-ups.

_Matilda jumped at the opportunity, which happened to be the perfect excuse to avoid Wyatt._

She couldn’t believe the other counselors and directors tasked _her_ , of all people, to paint the canvas, knowing that her temper could easily set the entire thing ablaze. She supposed it was due to Wyatt’s influence at all that she was allowed to exercise her creative talent, thoroughly ignoring the fact that her own fire skills which she decried as a nightmare were the very thing that made her gifted in identifying and applying such colors.

The summer heat had brought with it a myriad of suggestive, sultry undertones, and Matilda couldn’t tell whether it was the Aetearoan paradise that made her violate Wyatt in the driver’s seat that particular movie night, or if it was Wyatt Halliwell’s… _masculine wiles._ _Time and distance,_ she thought to herself as she slapped a transparent coat of waterproof paint onto the canvas, its droplets silvery-grey, tacky, and viscous, but which would soon hard-set against the sun’s unwavering exposure, as if it had never existed in the first place.

“So… _Matilda_ —” Paige finally broke the silence between them. “I gotta ask—what’s going on?”

“Um…what do you mean?” Matilda’s eyes remained firmly fixated on the bottom-left corner of the canvas, where mixtures of burgundy, chili pepper, and Persian red combined. _Swipe up-to-down, left-to-right, no excess—_

“With you and Wyatt.” Matilda froze, her paintbrush poised in her right hand, as an outsized droplet slowly emanated from its bristles, falling toward the dewy ground. She drew her breath in sharply.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” replied Matilda coolly, her cheeks turning pink. Paige seized Matilda’s paint brush and left it dipped in the bucket of gloss between them.

“ _Look,_ Matilda, I’m not stupid. I know there’s something going on between you two. I don’t mean to pry—”

“Then _don’t,”_ answered Matilda brusquely, snatching up the paintbrush with renewed fervor, layering the bottom half of the canvas with such force that drops began flying about in every direction.

Paige sighed. _So much for that then._ “Wyatt really cares about you, you know. He’d make you really happy, if you weren’t so stubborn in pushing him away,” she said softly. She made as if to say something else, but decided not to at the last minute, choosing instead to walk to the infirmary to check on the latest case of poison ivy.

_10:15 am, Lawn Outside Lakefront Gazebo, Camp Wanaka_

Paige crossed paths with Wyatt, as she traversed the hill to the infirmary that Wyatt was in the process of descending. “I’m leaving you two to talk this out yourselves,” she muttered in passing. Wyatt dug his hands into his khaki shorts pockets, trying to figure out how to make this crimson-haired beauty stay, for once in her life, and not flee from what could have some semblance of romantic potential, no matter how much in denial she was. _He knew what he felt that night, and knew she felt it too_.

 _Left-stroke, down, upstroke to the right…_ Matilda counted the gessoed color points that she needed to cover; her task was nearly complete. “ _Val—_ ” startled at the masculine voice, she jumped, causing her brush to swipe the right of Wyatt’s shirted chest with glue gloss.

“ _Fuck,_ I’m so sorry,” she breathed, still not making eye contact with Wyatt, who gently covered her hand with his own and continued painting, as her breath hitched.

“How do you paint the canvas?” Wyatt asked, as her hand moved beneath his.

“I-I’m almost done painting,” answered Matilda, unused to the touch of his hand over hers, especially in broad daylight, “but it’s _left-right,_ then _up-down_ , or whatever, to make sure the polish doesn’t clump.”

_10:30 am, Lawn Outside Lakefront Gazebo to Lakefront Gazebo, Camp Wanaka_

Once the canvas had been layered with polish, Matilda and Wyatt left it to dry and meandered to the gazebo, where they sat. Wyatt raised Matilda’s downcast visage to meet his eyes. “Why won’t you respond to my texts? _I’ve missed you_.”

After a beat, she replied, “you’re the only person I’ve ever lost all sense of control over, and I’m scared—”

“Scared? _Of what?_ ” murmured Wyatt, reaching for her, glad that she didn’t snatch her hand away for once.

“Of _judgment_. Of what others think. Of not trusting myself—of getting lost in this… _fling_ —or whatever the hell this is,” Matilda whispered. “This isn’t _me_. I’m supposed to be smart, if hot-tempered, not…weirdly horny.”

“But _Val_ ,” interceded Wyatt, “we’re of age, we’re both magical beings— _it’s ok._ To see where things go, I mean. You don’t need anyone’s permission to fall in love—or whatever this is… _I_ don’t even know what this is. _And I’m scared too._ ”

Matilda laughed incredulously. “ _You,_ Wyatt Halliwell, _scared?_ ” And, she wondered to herself, _how did he know the right things to say?_ Matilda realized it was because in this moment, he and she were alike, two magical young adults spending time together in close proximity, and this was the closest either of them had ever come to baring their soul, front and center.

“That after camp, maybe we won’t see each other again—and _I’m crazy about you_ —more than you could possibly know,” he said, his visage now inches away from hers, as they drew closer and kissed.

_10:40 am, Lakefront Gazebo, Camp Wanaka_

Matilda felt her phone buzz in her knapsack. Retrieving it, she opened the device to her mother’s most recent text message, her brow furrowing as she retreated deep into thought.

“Everything ok, Val?” Wyatt observed her abrupt change in expression. Matilda was about to nod, then shake her head, finally shrugging. _It’s complicated._

“My grandma got bitten by a Norwegian succubus and needs persuading to return to her Azores Island home which’ll cause her to age by a century, and my mom thinks _I’m_ the key to bringing her back. Lord knows why,” Matilda stated in frustration, as Wyatt draped his brawny arm around her slouched shoulders.

“What’s your grandma like?” inquired Wyatt.

“Gran Morgana’s not a blood relation— _again, it’s complicated—_ but she’s our matriarch. She’s the island’s only magical obstetrician, foster carer, _and_ babysitter. She’s the only one besides me with curly red hair, and she’s more stubborn than me, if you can believe it. She used to be married to my grandpa but she was too obstinate for him and far too ambitious to be in a relationship, _so she claimed._ ”

Wyatt chuckled, combing his fingers through Matilda’s wavy red hair. “Sure sounds like _someone_ I know. _Kidding!_ ” he said hurriedly as Matilda threw him a would-be glare. “What’s your role then?” Her expression softened.

“I’m supposed to write her a letter to the bookshop she’s staying at, to tell her how I’ve been—and plan on keeping her company some weekends once Morgana comes home.”

“Sounds reasonable enough,” posited Wyatt. Matilda nodded.

“I think Morgana’s grown lonely over the years—even if my mom doesn’t say so. She babysat me, Henry, Maya, Tory, all of us, over the years, and now she wants to retire, but she doesn’t have anyone to talk to. Sure, Matias is around, and nice enough, but it’s like pulling water from a rock to have him say more than a paragraph a day.”

“Guess you’d better get started on that letter then?” Matilda assented, as they departed the gazebo for her cottage.

_11:30 am, Outside of Cottage, Camp Wanaka_

They arrived at the cottage, Matilda’s key poised to unlock the door, when Wyatt spoke once more. “So, uh, _Val_ , if you’re free tonight, wanna have dinner with me?”

Matilda made a face. “Like, at the _canteen?_ ” She pictured macaroni and cheese and stale cheeseburgers saturated in grease. Wyatt shook his head.

“I know this place, if you meet me at the gazebo? 5 pm?”

Matilda angled her visage, peering into Wyatt’s earnest, pleading eyes. “ _Wyatt Halliwell Junior, are you asking me out on a date?”_

“ _Yes_ ,” Wyatt murmured. “Yes. Matilda, I am asking you to dine with me. _And yes, it’s a date_. Whaddaya say?”

“I’d be _delighted,”_ she breathed, as he bent forward, brushed a few crimson tendrils from her visage, and kissed her soundly.

_1 pm, Camp Wanaka, Cottage Bedroom_

Matilda stared at the printer paper she’d nicked from the director’s office, chewing on the tip of her black ballpoint pen. _Where do I even begin?_

_\-----------------------------------------_

_Dear Morgana,_

_I miss you. Life’s been complicated. A creep tried to manhandle me and I accidentally set fire to a jazz club that’s been part of the family history for over a century. Then I met a guy while doing community service. I spent days, weeks even—trying to pretend my feelings didn’t matter—trying as hard as I could to run away. And now I know I can’t._

_Anyways. You’re the only one in the family besides me with red hair and a stubborn streak a mile wide._

_I’m not great with words—I never pretend to be. And my life’s a hot mess. Hopefully, you’ll make the right choice for you. But know that we—Valensi, Vera, Jameson-Caine, Chase—we need you. And we love you, even if we’ve done a terrible time showing it lately. I’ll—we’ll—try to do better, I promise. I can stop by every week or so. I’ve missed seeing the garden and making guava jam with you. I could use some life advice (or in my mom’s words, a stern ‘talking-to’)._

_Come home—please?_

_Forever your juvenile delinquent,_

_Matilda_

\---------------------------------------------

It wasn’t the most elegant, and probably would make a sane letter recipient run the opposite direction screaming, but Matilda inherently understood Morgana’s sagacious nature and altruistic desire to help others that at times served as her own kryptonite. Matilda folded the handwritten piece into a small rectangle, slipping it into an envelope, addressing it to _Sagene Bok og Papir, Arendalsgata 12, 0463 Oslo, Norway, ATTN: Morgana, 2d Fl._

_5 pm, Lakefront Gazebo, Camp Wanaka_

She wondered if her _Reformation: Nikita Dress_ in its Olympia blue-and-white-patterned floral print was a bit much for the occasion. Matilda hadn’t brought much in the way of nice clothes, but her mother Macy had slipped in a few dresses when she wasn’t looking. For once, she was grateful for her mother’s tendency to overplan.

Matilda heard a telltale pop a foot away. _Wyatt_. She grinned nervously, smoothing the wrinkles from her dress as it had been packed at the bottom of her suitcase, crammed in tightly with lord knew what else.

“How was your day?” he asked, raising her hand to his lips, kissing the tips of her fingers. Matilda’s cheeks reddened slightly.

“ _Complicated_ ,” replied Matilda, now staring at Wyatt’s accoutrements. _Was that an ice chest? And a grocery bag?_ “So, uh, what’s with the stuff?” She pointed to his sundry items.

“Tonight’s dinner—but we need to get to our destination first.”

“ _Oh?”_ asked Matilda, who couldn’t help but be intrigued. “Where’s that, exactly?”

Wyatt smiled enigmatically. “You’ll see…” He offered his arm and Matilda took it, as they orbed off into the late afternoon ambiance of summer.

_5:10 pm, Bayliner 285 SB Boat, Lake Wanaka Marina_

They landed squarely on the grey-worn wooden planked dock, with nary a person in sight. Wyatt led Matilda to one of the small white-colored futuristic speedboat-type water transportation vehicles. It looked like the stuff of movies, akin to James Bond-era yachts in the south of France. The vehicle had an upper railing which reminded Matilda of the tabloid photos she saw of her older sister Maya partying it up in Monaco, sunbathing on the balcony part of the boat. Matilda had never once set foot on such a thing, as she understood that it was far above her own earning potential and reserved only for the richest. _Or so she thought, anyways._

“Is that a…” Matilda paused. “Yacht?”

Wyatt shook his head. “It’s a retired Bayliner 285 SB boat, which I bought on auction awhile ago and fixed up as a hobby.”

“It’s nice,” she replied, gazing at the smooth wood interior cabin with cushioned seating and a small two-person table.

“Thanks,” Wyatt grinned as he removed the wares from his bags—fresh filleted fish, pre-roasted potatoes, and what appeared to be s’mores ingredients. He brought forth a hot plate, and after plugging in the device, proceeded to fry the fish, keeping seasoning to a minimum as the fish was flavorful already. Once the fish was prepared, he plated these then added the pre-roasted potatoes to the pan, where he warmed them, adding them to the plates of fish.

“Dinner for two,” he said, presenting the plates.

“Looks amazing,” Matilda murmured, and it did smell delectable, curls of aroma wafting throughout the cabin, coupled with the savory potatoes dressed in sea salt, rosemary, and a hint of olive oil. “My dad would _love_ you,” she remarked. “He’s British, and kind of has a thing for fish and chips—or any variation of it.”

“Cool,” Wyatt answered, as he reached for two sets of utensils from a nearby compartment. “Your dad’s British?”

“Yeah,” said Matilda between forkfuls. “He grew up in another era and served in the war, then met my mom. They started out as coworkers. But it wasn’t as awkward as you’d think—he worked for my mom and my aunts—and they came to see him as family.”

“Y’know,” remarked Wyatt, “that sounds like how my grandparents met. My Grandpa Leo was supposed to be doing home repairs, mending the light fixtures, and my grandma thought he looked kinda cute. Added plus: he was magical, like her.”

Matilda laughed. “I wish I had a meet-cute story like that for _my_ parents,” she said in turn. “My dad kidnapped and tied up my mom and her sisters to chairs in the attic and told them they had magical powers and a day to decide whether to use them in full.”

“ _Wow.”_ Wyatt’s fork paused above the potatoes he was cutting up. “Isn’t that kind of… _illegal_?”

“Yeah, or morally dubious, I’m not sure. My dad wasn’t above unconventional tactics back then. Still isn’t,” she added, rolling her eyes.

_5:50 pm, Bayliner 285 SB Boat, Lake Wanaka Marina_

“So _then_ what happened?” Wyatt was hanging on every word, in rapt attention, as the conversation continued.

“I’m not sure. All I know is my mom dated a guy who sacrificed his life for the townspeople, had a tough time coping with his death, and dated a guy who was perfect on paper, but whose aunt was an evil nutcase.”

“I feel like everyone has that story though, I mean if they date long enough, right? Trying to figure out who the right person is, trying to get through life—” Wyatt began.

“Yeah, one would think. ‘Course, then my parents were in denial of their feelings for the longest time, according to my Aunt Maggie, until my mom finally turned on some slow dance music and my aunts hid in the attic waiting for my dad to finally get the hint—”

“Crazy story,” Wyatt chuckled, but Matilda wasn’t quite finished.

“—On top of family issues. I mean, there was the added layer of my mom growing up with her dad and not knowing she had two sisters until her mom died.”

“ _Oof_ , sounds like my Great-Aunt Paige—except she didn’t find out she had sisters until well after she was adopted. But that’s her story to tell, not mine,” replied Wyatt, as he reached for another morsel of fish.

“So we _do_ have things in common then?” Matilda said with a grin. “And here I thought you were a perfect beach-blond surfer-boy type with a perfect family and perfect means.”

“Well, I _am_ quite athletic—” Wyatt laughed aloud, as Matilda swatted his chest playfully. “I dunno about ‘perfect family’ though—my family’s definitely seen its share of dysfunction. Still, it’s the family I’ve been born into, and I love them all, no matter how insane life gets.”

“Me too,” murmured Matilda. “Me too. I know _exactly_ what you mean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Partly inspired by Norwegian singer Astrid S.' "Dance Dance Dance" song: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=W0ToDn9jXW8  
> 11 Small Boats: https://www.godownsize.com/small-boats-with-cabins/  
> Nikita Dress: https://www.thereformation.com/products/nikita-dress?color=Olympia&glCountry=US&glCurrency=USD&gclid=CjwKCAjwmrn5BRB2EiwAZgL9okjyj2G1fjFL_nWLzlAk2ZkomtNtzkNYutNcl8s3kcN7n32UJ0LstRoCGCwQAvD_BwE


	13. HMV: Salty in Naustet

13 HMV: Salty in Naustet

_“Varm deg på meg/Hvis det blir kaldt/Slipp deg løs no, og fall fritt”_

_Translation: “Warm yourself on me/If it gets cold/Let go now, and fall freely”_

_–Stina Talling, song “BlimE (Mer Enn God Nok)”_

_9:10 pm, Week 6, Outside Sauna at SALT, Langkaia 1, 0150 Oslo, Norway_

“Wait—lemme get this straight—” Macy stared up suspiciously at the art-deco-like triangular glass-enclosure structure up ahead. “We’re going to soak in a sauna that’s an art project inspired by _drying fish_?”

Harry chuckled as he carried a duffel bag full of towels, swimsuits, and a spare change of clothes between them. “ _Not exactly,_ love. The sauna is part of a larger art project that _includes_ art pieces _inspired_ by traditional Norwegian racks for drying fish.”

“ _Right_ ,” replied Macy, as Harry sped up his pace, to avoid arriving at the sauna too late to closing. “Wait for me!” She scurried forward, attempting to catch up. _Why on earth had she let Harry plan date night?_ she thought to herself, initially expecting him to make 6 pm reservations at a local fjord restaurant, followed by a walk along the water.

Just outside the glass doors, there were restrooms separated by gender. Harry unzipped the duffel bag and gave Macy her swimsuit for her to change into. After both had, they exited the restrooms to take a brisk outdoor shower. _My hair_ , Macy inwardly wailed to herself, bemoaning the fact she had spent the latter part of two hours earlier that day taming her tresses. This was followed by a brisk dip in what appeared to be repurposed grape wine barrels, the type where one imagined the local townspeople stepping on the berries, crushing them with bare feet in a chanting dance, for the summer vintner harvest.

_9:20 pm, Sauna Naustet at SALT, Langkaia 1, 0150 Oslo, Norway_

The first thing Macy thought of when she peered into the room, entirely composed of wood planks, was _hygge_ —or in Norwegian, _koselig—_ an undefinable, inherent, ineffable sense of utter Nordic coziness—as she surveyed the speckled shadows from the perforated candleholder with its light within, coupled with the tiny sauna fire in what appeared to be a black iron miniature stove—akin to those seen in the 1800s during the time of pioneers. The stove had a back-end compartment for countless pre-chopped logs, no doubt used to stoke the steady, unwavering flames that warmed the cocoon she and Harry found themselves in.

The side benches—two on the left, and two on the right side of the tiny enclosure—were one followed by another on a higher step, similar to high school bleachers, strong and sturdy. Thick damask-and-navy striped linens— _were they towels or blankets?_ Macy wondered—were neatly folded atop each top-most seated area. A broad metal pan was filled with water, with a carved ladle-like instrument within, to scoop the water out. _What was that for?_

Harry stowed the duffel bag in a nearby heat-resistant compartment and walked toward Macy, beckoning her to sit, which she did, hesitantly. She couldn’t help but wonder whether the benches contained heat scorching enough to burn the outermost layer of her skin. “Is it safe to sit on the bare wood,” she gestured toward the iron stove and back to the bench before them, “given the temperature?” Harry laughed.

“What’s so funny?” exclaimed Macy indignantly. “It’s a completely legitimate question—I mean, we’re in a different country, how should _I_ know how this stuff works—”

“Macy, love, _relax—_ ” Harry laid his broad hands on either side of her shoulders and she sat atop the lower of the two benches. “See? No burns. I would think you’d be more at ease, given how we’ve raised a pyro of our own,” referencing their twenty-one-year-old daughter Matilda, currently paying her debt to society in Camp Wanaka.

“ _Not yet,”_ she groused to herself. “And I’ve never gotten used to fire—I only did, for _her_.”

“Ah, yes,” Harry mused. “ _The things we do for our kids_.”

Macy nodded, sighing, thinking not of her maternal duties, but of what she had seen in the latest installment of the Oslo _Afterposten_ newspaper, in the American equivalent of the “Style” section. Morgana, youthful, dewy, bouncing curls and all, had been photographed as part of an “Out & About” special about beautiful up-and-coming youth. Harry noticed Macy’s reticence, remarking, “penny for your thoughts, _love_.”

“ _Morgana.” Of course,_ Harry realized.

“What about her? She’s of age and recapturing her lost youth—” he began.

“I don’t think it’s appropriate for her to flaunt her looks in front of the media—I mean, she’s a century and a half—she should act her age _,_ ” said Macy sharply, which caused Harry to raise an eyebrow.

“Oh, really?” he remarked, pouring a ladleful of water down his wife’s back, the heat trickling down in puffs of steam from her ever-sensitive shoulder blades to the bottom-most base of her spine, as she emanated the barest of gasps. _Holy Hera, that felt amazing._ She motioned for Harry to turn around as well, dipping the instrument into the silver pan, covering his back with the same.

“The media artificially promotes young looks—what’ll she do when she wakes up one day and it’s all stripped away? _What’s left_?” Rather than appear worried, Harry’s eyes began to twinkle with a glimmer of its own.

“Love, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous of Morgana,” he casually remarked, kissing her smooth, elegant shoulder, fondling the curls that tumbled alongside.

“ _Me?”_ Macy sputtered, incredulous. “ _Jealous?_ ” Harry nodded, as she shook her head vigorously, curls flying this way and that. “I’m just thinking she ought to be more careful. And _you—_ ”

Now it was Harry’s turn to be surprised. “ _Me?_ What did _I_ do?”

“ _You’re_ the one who wanted to give her the freedom,” she stated, “to let her _run wild_ —explore—go _crazy—_ she’s a hundred-and-fifty, for crying out loud! _”_

“And _run wild_ she must do, love,” explained Harry as best he could as he began massaging Macy’s upper shoulders, which were _far_ too tense, in his opinion. “Morgana’s headstrong—you should know that, of all people. If we forced her to return from her _rumspringa_ , realistically speaking, what would she do?” Macy mulled over this question for a few moments, before replying.

“She’d probably run away and never come back, wouldn’t she?” she answered in a low voice.

Harry concurred. “ _Exactly_.” He turned around to face his wife, brushing a tendril away from her melanin visage and kissed her forehead gently.

_9:35 pm, Sauna Naustet at SALT, Langkaia 1, 0150 Oslo, Norway_

“Ok, maybe I _am_ kind of jealous,” Macy admitted minutes later. “I never had a chance to ‘let loose’ when I was her age. My dad always kept me on a short leash—”

“He was doing so out of love,” Harry moved from Macy’s visage to stroke the tension out of her upper biceps.

Macy nodded as she arched her neck forward, cat-like, on impulse. “I realize that now, but he didn’t make things easy for me.”

“Imagine if you _hadn’t_ had Dexter in your life back then,” theorized Harry, reverting to his professorial voice that Macy knew so well. “Where would you have ended up?”

She gave the question considerable thought as she stared at the scintillating, multitudinous reflection of amber candlelight on the burnished walls before them. “I probably wouldn’t have gotten a Ph.D. from Columbia; I wouldn’t have chosen a major, and I’d still be stuck in undergraduate studies as a near-thirty-year-old, trying to figure out what to do with my life. I was pretty indecisive back then…,” she paused for a beat. “…I guess I was lucky. Even though he was strict, he supported me when it counted.”

Harry smiled as he replaced the ladle on the metal pan with a _clink_. “You said it, not me.” Macy watched as he plucked a piece of pre-cut log, placing it into the iron stove, causing a shower of sparks to burst forth within its robust, miniature cavern.

_9:59 pm, Café Naustet at SALT, Langkaia 1, 0150 Oslo, Norway_

Macy sipped their shared cup of cloudberry tea as Harry dug into a small, piping-hot waffle with brown sweetened cheesecake-like spread. “ _Absolutely scrumptious_ ,” he remarked, about to offer Macy a piece before remembering her dairy allergy. _More for me,_ he supposed, drawing another morsel to his mouth. _Tea?_ Harry mouthed over at Macy, motioning for the beverage. Macy made as if to ignore his request, then pushed the glass forward, a smile hovering on her lips. _How very impish_ , Harry thought to himself, raising the glass, as if to propose a mock toast in her general direction. Macy pulled out her phone, showing a webpage on cloudberries, nicknamed “Arctic Gold” due to its expensive cost, and the fact that it was apparently illegal to harvest them unripe before the July/August picking season.

The tea contained subtle notes of crisp apples mixed with delicate raspberries, plus a hint of tart cranberry. Both wondered— _just how on earth would this ‘illegal-when-unripe’ law be enforced?_ “Maybe they have body heat-sensing infrared security cameras?” speculated Macy, taking another sip of their tea.

“That sounds _far_ too complicated,” responded Harry, who took another bite of his waffle dessert. “Maybe they employ trolls and hulder-folk?” he inquired with a deadpan expression.

Macy side-eyed him, biting her lip to avoid laughing aloud at the very image Harry had described. She logically reasoned aloud, “according to Norwegian legends, aren’t trolls supposed to be three, six, or nine-headed, at least the ones that Askeladden conquered? And if he conquered them, they’re probably _not_ the most reliable security guards…”

“ _Right you are,”_ murmured Harry. “And the hulder-folk?”

“Just as unlikely,” Macy answered repressing the urge to roll her eyes, in the presence of her partner in crime. “They’re mountainous underground creatures swimming in wealth—why would they go out of their way to watch several hundred cloudberry bushes? I’m telling you, Harry, sometimes the simplest, most logical answer is scientific technology.”

“ _Anyways_ ,” Harry went on, side-stepping the matter entirely, “Norwegians are proud of their berries, they use them for jam, tea, or for creating Christmas sweet cloudberry whipped cream.”

“Nice,” Macy said aloud, thinking to herself that when Christmas rolled around in several short months, she could expand her cooking repertoire and add the whipped cream recipe to her list. _Would it resemble the clotted cream Harry was so fond of?_ She hoped it would. _Never change, my dear,_ Macy thought to herself, holding Harry’s hand from where he sat across the table from her; her husband’s automatic assumption that mythical creatures were responsible for everyday happenings rather than scientific theory never ceased to bemuse her.

_10:30 pm, Conference Hall, Hotel Christiania Teater, Stortingsgata 16, 0161 Oslo, Norway_

After orbing back to their hotel room and dropping off their duffel bag, Harry beckoned Macy to grab his arm, transporting them both to an exquisite Old World-style theater with hundreds of feet of luxurious cotton-polyester-mohair flame-retardant stage curtains, an ornate crystal chandelier containing thousands of the glittering gems and calligraphic crown molding stories above their heads, and plaster-inlaid elegant skyboxes that hearkened back to the heyday of classical operatic performances, upper-crust monacles, and puffed ballgowns that cost nearly a year’s salary.

Macy walked around the dimly-lit rows upon endless rows of maroon movie-style seating. “Harry, where are we?” she turned around to face him.

“At the hotel,” Harry replied, “at least, the part that used to be a theater way back in the day. It’s a conference room now, so the concierge told me the first day we arrived.”

“ _Wow_ ,” breathed Macy, running her slender fingers atop the seats. “It’s really… _fancy.”_

“Thought you’d like to see it, given our mutual Darcy/Jimmy history at Tessera Nightclub, and how you used to perform for a full audience. I mean, it’s not the same, but—”

“ _I love it,_ ” Macy whispered in his ear. “Shall we?” she offered him her hand and he took it; she led the way up the five stair-steps to the front stage, now lit a crimson red, to circular tables covered in white linen tablecloths, each surrounded by several gold-rimmed peacock-blue velveteen chairs. She observed, in the back, a full drumset and a series of black microphones situated at varying heights.

“According to this pamphlet,” Harry took a folded piece of paper from his pants pocket, “the stage dates back to 1918, when it was originally called “Opera Comique;” it was confiscated by the Germans during WWII, but eventually returned to Norwegian ownership in 1945. In 1986, the room was converted into a movie theater for cinematic purposes; since 2006, it has hosted various TV shows and now doubles as a banquet hall.”

“Fascinating,” murmured Macy, as she found herself reimagining herself as Darcy. _Was that really a century or so ago?_ If she closed her eyes tight enough, she could have sworn she was back at Tessera Nightclub, fringed flapper dress, _cloche_ hat, ochre makeup and all.

_10:40 pm, Backstage, Conference Hall, Hotel Christiania Teater, Stortingsgata 16, 0161 Oslo, Norway_

Their steps echoed in the reddened shadows as they traversed the backstage area; though this wasn’t the original theater in which Darcy found her fame, Macy understood that certain theater aspects remained unchanged. She knew there was likely a set of dressing rooms, a “green room” or backstage lounge for performers, an elevated “catwalk” of black wrought-iron allowing people to quickly walk from one stage wing to the other unobtrusively for set and lighting purposes, and various storage areas for costumes and the like.

And indeed, Macy spotted the elevated catwalk almost immediately, coupled with the side wings of slotted metal, which she knew typically led to a winding staircase, back to the stage’s main level. She walked to the foot of the stairs, glanced back mischievously at Harry, and took the first step upwards.

_10:40 pm, Backstage Catwalk, Conference Hall, Hotel Christiania Teater, Stortingsgata 16, 0161 Oslo, Norway_

“ _Amazing view_ ,” murmured Harry who had crept up behind Macy’s form. At that very moment, Macy was glad she had hurriedly changed earlier into one particular sleeveless, scoop-necked black laced cocktail dress, described online as having “supreme and luxurious allure” with a “feminine touch of seductiveness.” _Indeed,_ she thought to herself as she subconsciously bit her lower lip.

“Why _Mr. Valensi_ ,” she purred, as he nuzzled her neck, “you _certainly_ have an eye for theatrical assets,” as she felt his hardness suddenly pressing up along her upper thigh.

“Oh, you have _no_ idea—” he said as he began thrusting between their frenzied kisses. All of a sudden, Macy found herself picked up in one motion, her legs wrapped around his sturdy, well-built body as they continued their passionate embrace.

“Considering we’re ten feet off the main stage, maybe we could…” Macy paused, “find a place a bit less hazardous?”

“ _Roger that_ ,” gasped Harry, and they soon found themselves within one of the dark, deserted dressing rooms; Macy hastily employed telekinesis to shut and lock the door, then turned her head around to continue her inveigling motions, her tongue gently winding its way to his mouth, where they felt each other’s sordid warmth and wetness, feeling each other’s instinctual response to the other. Harry laid Macy atop a sturdy shelf adjoining the room’s mirror, as she hurriedly unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers, pulling his stiffened length free, using her index finger to wipe and taste droplets of his salty essence that leaked from within; Harry nearly became undone at the vision of his very own stunning goddess, tasting _him_ , in utter thrall.

His arm dove beneath Macy’s dress, pulling her underwear down as she shook it free, causing it to fall to the ground, neither of them noticing where it landed. “ _Macy_ ,” Harry’s eyes were now smoldering with an urgent ferocity. “ _Tell me what you want.”_

 _“You,”_ she said, in no louder than a whisper.

“What was that?” he growled into her ear as she felt herself involuntarily shiver.

“You!” she all but shrieked. “I want _you,_ Harry _. I want you inside me.”_ Harry watched with rapt fixation as she positioned her moistened folds _just so_ , to meet the tip of his engorged length, and together, they gasped at the resulting penetrative sensation.

“ _Fuck,_ Macy,” groaned Harry aloud, thrusting wildly as she moaned with unbridled pleasure, clutching his silky chestnut hair, throwing his head back, and enveloping his mouth in a torrid kiss. His length hit Macy’s innermost core in the most sensual, seductively flawless angles so that she had the unearthly, ethereal sensation of seeing stars. 

As if on impulse, she looked over his shoulder, and took in the odd visual before her; cosmetics on the smaller makeup table had freed themselves from a knobbed drawer and were floating around the room, as if weightless. _Oh, man._ “What is it?” she heard Harry say.

“Nothing,” she replied, “just a bit of… _pleasure_ …making itself known.” He smirked, as he continued to pinch and lick the most sensitive part of Macy’s neck, knowing _exactly_ what she meant, causing her to gasp loudly once more. A second passed, a couple more, as they crested toward their mountainous apex. “ _I-I think I’m going to—”_ she whispered in Harry’s ear, and he nodded. _Me too._

Macy clawed at his shoulder as he came in one final thrust, his essence coursing in spurted rivulets into his beloved, as they rode their pleasure together in their convulsive, cosmic, heady embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sauna at Salt: https://www.visitoslo.com/en/product/?TLp=1233782&Sauna-at-SALTCafe Naustet: https://www.tripadvisor.com/Restaurant_Review-g190479-d12668252-Reviews-Cafe_Naustet-Oslo_Eastern_Norway.html#photos;aggregationId=&albumid=101&filter=7  
> Cloudberry Season: https://rove.me/to/norway/cloudberry   
> Norwegian Folklore: https://folklorethursday.com/folktales/6576/  
> Parts of a Theater: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Parts_of_a_theatre#Backstage_or_offstage  
> Hotel Christiania: https://christianiateater.com/en/meetingevents/


	14. MMV: When Love Takes Over

14 MMV: When Love Takes Over

_“Looking out for you to hold my hand/It feels like I could fall/Now love me right like I know you can/We could lose it all…” –Astrid S., When Love Takes Over (David Guetta cover)_

_7 pm, Week 7, Lakefront Gazebo, Camp Wanaka_

Matilda heard a telltale pop a foot away. _Wyatt_. She grinned nervously, smoothing the wrinkles from her Old Navy floral linen-blend dress as it had been packed at the bottom of her suitcase, crammed in tightly with her other outfits like a pack of sardines. Its sweetheart neckline and fitted bodice, coupled with its casual-chic goldenrod blossom-prints was enough for Matilda to choose the outfit for the evening ahead.

“How was your day?” he asked, raising her hand to his lips, kissing the tips of her fingers. Matilda’s cheeks reddened slightly.

“The usual,” replied Matilda, reaching over to help Wyatt carry his accoutrements. “Is that tonight’s dinner?”

“Yup,” he nodded. He offered his arm and Matilda took it, as they orbed off into the late afternoon ambiance of summer.

_7:10 pm, Bayliner 285 SB Boat, Lake Wanaka Marina_

They landed squarely on the grey-worn wooden planked dock, with nary a person in sight. Wyatt led Matilda to the same small white-colored futuristic speedboat-type water transportation vehicle from their first date. They walked onto the boat as Matilda continued gazing at the smooth wood interior cabin with cushioned seating and a small two-person table. _Had this and the previous date been but a dream?_ Sometimes, late at night while staring at the cottage ceiling from her dorm-style bed with its crisp sheets and down pillow, she wondered whether everything between her and Wyatt had been a hallucination, a sultry fever dream—that perhaps, she would wake up back home at Epicenter Pico or Vera Manor in a cold sweat—that their stolen kisses on the campgrounds, their nautical sojourns hadn’t really occurred.

_But it was real, every moment of it._

“Thanks,” Wyatt grinned as he removed the bags from Matilda’s arms, revealing the evening’s succor—fresh Coromandel scallops, caramelized carrots, and cold-set strawberry Jell-O made with sparkling cider. He braised the scallops with two teaspoons of olive oil, a hint of Creole seasoning, a fifth of a cup of dry white wine, a tablespoon of unsalted butter, a minced garlic clove, half a teaspoon of lemon zest, and a tablespoon of freshly-chopped parsley. Once the scallops were prepared, he plated these then warmed the carrots on the pan, after which he added the vegetables to the plates of scallops.

“Dinner for two,” he said, presenting the plates.

“Looks amazing,” Matilda murmured, and it did smell delectable, curls of aroma wafting throughout the cabin, the salty sweetness of the caramelized crimson-orange carrots soaking in their own _jus_ combining perfectly with the earthy-yet-mildly-spiced shellfish commonly found in the country.

_8 pm, Cabin, Bayliner 285 SB Boat, Lake Wanaka Marina_

After their succulent dinner and accompanying Jell-O with sparkling cider, the pair cleared away the dishes and disposed of whatever trash they had in the paper grocery bag. Wyatt pushed the various items on the floor to the edges, and pulled out his phone, turning on music. “Feeling nostalgic already?” Matilda attempted to joke. Wyatt shook his head.

“I know we only have tonight—everyone’s taking off next week, it’s gonna be insane back at camp—and in the weeks we’d been together, I realized we hadn’t danced together— _yet_.”

Matilda shook her head, her crimson curls flying about in the enthralling manner that endeared her so to the man standing before her, beach-blond tresses and all. “Wyatt, you don’t have to—I mean, I’m not a great dancer or anything—and it’s just _me_ after all—” she began, but Wyatt interrupted.

“What do you mean, ‘it’s just _you?’_ ” asked Wyatt in a low baritone that made her inexplicably shiver.

“I guess,” she admitted, “I’m used to being overshadowed—I’m used to being bad at things—bungling things up, _setting stuff on fire_ —”

“Matilda Valensi, are you trying to tell me you’re scared? _Of a dance?_ ” Matilda stared at the floor for a moment, bit her lip, faced him again, and nodded. Without missing a beat, Wyatt carefully drew near her lithe form, placing his outstretched right palm in the air so that her left palm could meet it; he tenderly encircled her lissome waist with his other hand as Matilda’s right hand angled toward his broad shoulder where she lay her head ever-so-gently, as the music played on.

The first song was New Zealand singer Astrid S.’ rendition of David Guetta’s “ _When Love Takes Over_ ,” the ethereal melody of the singer’s lilted soprano surrounding the couple as they moved about the cabin, in their own embrace, transfixed on the steady movements of the other they held within their grasp, their hearts beating as one, willing the powers that be for this moment in time to never end, as Wyatt whirled Matilda and dipped her low to the ground, causing her curls to bounce as she giggled aloud.

The second was Taylor Swift’s “ _Cardigan”_ —“I knew you/hand under my sweatshirt/kiss it better…” a seemingly melancholy, haunting tune that evolved into a flurry of nostalgic sentiment, hinting of goodbyes, ex-lovers, and “changing endings” about “Peter losing Wendy.” _I don’t want to lose you_ , their heady embraces indicated, as Matilda peered into Wyatt’s visage, wiping a stray tear from his cheek. “ _Wyatt, why are you crying_?” she softly asked, stroking his hair with the palm of her hand. He shook his head, embarrassed by his sudden burst of emotion that had emerged out of nowhere.

“ _I might never see you again,”_ he murmured in response, as they continued to slow dance, their artful movements overtaking their mutual practicality, of _everything_ that came after what they both knew would be their last time seeing each other at camp—a mutual parting of the ways, new school years separated by state boundaries, internships, new jobs, and new people.

Matilda faintly smiled. “The lyrics mention “I knew you’d come back to me,” right? So anything’s possible…” Wyatt attempted a chuckle.

“Possible isn’t the same thing as _probable_ —” he began, but Matilda placed a finger to his lips to silence him.

“Wyatt Halliwell, _I want you_ ,” she whispered sensuously into his ear.

“Here? _Right now?_ ” Wyatt glanced down at Matilda, who nodded. “Are you…sure?”

“Yes—as sure as I’ve been about anything, which _definitely_ says something,” she responded, ignoring the fact that the wood cabin had hard flooring, and side benches, which meant for unusual positioning, but in that moment, it didn’t matter to her. _I want him now_ , she thought to herself, as she bit her lip, awaiting his answer.

_8:30 pm, Lower Cabin, Bayliner 285 SB Boat, Lake Wanaka Marina_

“Wyatt, where are we going?” asked Matilda, as Wyatt walked to the upper-left corner of the cabin and threw open a door she hadn’t noticed before; he disappeared through it, not before motioning her to follow him, which she did. The short set of stairs led to a comfortable-looking queen-sized bed with black bed coverings, slate-grey carpet, and a variety of classic nautical frames of sailboat prints tastefully sprinkled throughout. “What _is_ this place, anyways?”

“A spare bedroom, _mine_ actually, I use it when I have evening lakefront duty, making sure folks stay safe at camp,” he responded, closing the shades tightly, as turned to face her.

Matilda raised an eyebrow. “You must bring a lot of women here, getting it all dressed up like,” she gestured at the sublime décor before her, “ _that_.” Wyatt shook his head.

“Actually… _I’m a virgin_ ,” he confessed.

“ _Seriously?_ ” exclaimed Matilda, rooted to where she stood, in thorough disbelief. “But…you’re _fucking gorgeous!_ ” Wyatt wryly laughed aloud.

“Don’t make me feel any more embarrassed than I already do, Val,” he said matter-of-factly. “A lot of girls think being a camp counselor is… _weird,_ ” he admitted, stepping closer to Matilda until they were mere inches apart.

“ _I’m not like other women,”_ she murmured. Wyatt shook his head.

“ _No, you’re not_ —and that’s what I love about you.” He kissed the top of her crimson curly hair.

“I kind of have a confession to make too,” Matilda spoke.

“What’s that?” inquired Wyatt.

“ _I’m a virgin too,”_ she replied, “but that’s mostly since I’m a cranky workaholic balancing school and working at a bar.”

“What’re the odds?” Wyatt jokingly mused aloud, as he continued stroking Matilda’s curly tresses.

“I _know_ , right?”

“Maybe we should do something about that—” he began. They grinned cheekily at each other in that moment, silently daring each other to make the next move.

_8:45 pm, Lower Cabin, Bayliner 285 SB Boat, Lake Wanaka Marina_

“Do we need to worry about—” Wyatt pointed to Matilda’s earrings, and by extension, her fire powers. She shook her head.

“Not unless they’re removed, which is impossible unless _I’m_ the one removing them.” Wyatt paused from kissing Matilda and went upstairs, and she followed to retrieve her knapsack. They returned minutes later, Wyatt with a fire extinguisher ( _just in case_ ), and Matilda with her knapsack, which she rifled through to find an unopened condom, which she handed to Wyatt.

“ _Y’know,_ to be safe,” Matilda said, and he understood, as they resumed from where they had last left off, tumbling onto the bed, as she suddenly found Wyatt on top. She often found herself strong-minded in her daily life pre-camp, and secretly enjoyed being dominated herself, though she’d never admitted it to anyone out loud. Her legs encircled him, as their kisses grew increasingly frenzied, their tongues exploring each other’s hidden crevices, as she felt his hardness digging into the crease between her upper thigh and abdomen, which would likely cause a bruise the next morning. _A tattooed remembrance of the sordid night before_ , she mused to herself as she removed his shirt, as he simultaneously shed his shorts in a heap at the foot of the stylish bedspread.

“ _Turn around,”_ whispered Wyatt, and she did as he unzipped her dress from behind, massaging her bare shoulders, her constellation of amber-colored freckles sprinkled throughout. “ _You’re so fucking beautiful_ ,” he murmured, kissing each and every one of her freckles as she gasped at the sensation. _One sleeve, then the other._ The dress was deftly removed, pushed off the bed with a shove of Matilda’s foot, as they continued to tangle themselves in the other, Wyatt nipping and biting at the sensitive area of Matilda’s neck as she ground her pelvis into Wyatt’s prominent erection, causing him to utter an audible groan.

To delay himself from coming too early, he wound his finger from Matilda’s breast down toward her opening, where he manually penetrated her so that she would grow accustomed to the very feel of his skin, eliciting a gasp from her. _Slow and steady_ , he thought to himself, recalling the online Reddit threads he’d read in the past week on how to deflower one’s love, as he curved his finger, moving faster, plunging into her once she signaled she was comfortable and _utterly wanting_ , hitting her G-spot, causing her to writhe in utmost pleasure as she began to lose all semblance of composure.

_8:47 pm, Lower Cabin, Bayliner 285 SB Boat, Lake Wanaka Marina_

Wyatt reached across the bed for the condom and unwrapped it, pinching the tip as he rolled it onto his stiffened self; he crouched on his knees above Matilda as she slowly guided him in. She winced as she felt something within her rip, akin to a delicate piece of silk, knowing it was gone for good, _as she wanted it to be._ Wyatt noticed her grimace and made as if to pause, but she motioned for him to continue. “ _Deeper,”_ she murmured, knowing that to experience pleasure, she had to withstand a bit of early discomfort.

He moved slowly, _agonizingly so_ , as he felt the tightness of her moistened walls capture himself within her internal grasp. “ _Fuck,”_ he groaned aloud, as he continued thrusting, gradually, _unhurriedly_ , until Matilda scraped her nails along his back.

“ _Faster,”_ she muttered, loud enough for him to hear; his eyes smoldering with pent-up sexual frustration from the weeks past, he increased his tempo, sinking into her fully, _completely_ , as their tongues continued to meet in unbridled fervor, and her legs inveigled themselves around him once more, for him to plough into her ever closer in their sordidly intimate embrace.

“ _Scream for me Val,”_ he whispered in her ear, noticing that up until then that she had repressed herself, remaining silent, trying not to let her unruly physical reaction overpower her ever-overthinking brain capacity. She nodded, and yelled not once, but _twice_ , as he hit her most pleasurable area.

“ _Very good_ ,” responded Wyatt, but this time it was Matilda who took the next step, as she repositioned themselves so that she was straddling atop his form.

“ _What’s my name?”_ she hissed. Wyatt mischievously grinned.

“ _Val,”_ he spoke, and she pinched his abs hard.

“You know that’s not my _real_ name,” Matilda replied, a sneaky twinkle in her eye as she pinned his arms to the bed. “ _What,”_ she pinched him after each enunciated word. _“Is,”_ Matilda’s teeth made contact with his upper chest as she bit him ever-so-gently. “ _My,”_ she slapped his arm away as he attempted to wriggle free. “ _Name?”_

 _“MATILDA,”_ he groaned. She finally released his arms, and he gripped her hips and thrust deeper. “ _Fuck,”_ he stammered aloud as they began ascending their apex, “ _I’m-I’m gonna—”_ Matilda bit his neck hard as he came, his spurts reverberating into the latex confinement that was nevertheless felt within her soaked, feminine walls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by NZ singer Astrid S. and her cover of David Guetta's "When Love Takes Over": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_NfkseMXO9s
> 
> Floral Linen Dress: https://oldnavy.gap.com/browse/product.do?pid=581961002&vid=1&tid=onpl000017&kwid=1&ap=7&gclid=CjwKCAjw4MP5BRBtEiwASfwAL9vQRwgsyajt4LtmHYZ03Jtuy88RD8Khj-1sCmUzQW0BV1am88M7TBoCbwMQAvD_BwE&gclsrc=aw.ds


	15. HMV: Lady of the Lake

15 HMV: Lady of the Lake

_“Standin’ under the disco lights/Gonna let my hair hang down/High heels bought me that whiskey mouth/I’m back on my own time…”_

_–Gin Wigmore, song “Hangover Halo”_

_9:10 pm, Week 7, Palace Garden Fountain, Across from Litteraturhuset, Wergelandsveien 29, 0167 Oslo, Norway_

Their date night…no, more like _weekend_ …had gone wonderfully, in all its sauna-filled glory. Macy and Harry’s most recent evening excursion took themselves near Litteraturhuset; they had dined at Bokbacka Restaurant Frogner, an upscale Scandinavian restaurant known for their succulent langoustines and authentic Nordic rye bread. As they rounded the corner, walking past Dronningdamen pond, Macy snuggled her head atop Harry’s for a brief moment, enjoying the serene, tranquil bliss that came with a Sunday evening in the quaint city.

_All of a sudden, they heard a splash, followed by a chorus of raucous shouts._

“Uh…Harry, what was that?” Macy tugged at her husband’s sleeve. “Did you hear that?”

Harry shrugged. “Maybe a couple of inebriated souls out on the town?” Macy shook her head.

“I could’ve sworn I heard a splash—I have a weird feeling about this…” her voice trailed off, meeting his eyes directly. _Morgana?_ There was no way she would be out and about at this odd hour on her own, and even if she were—why would she be near a body of water? _Highly unlikely, but just one way to be sure._ Macy grabbed Harry’s elbow in a dark corner of the sidewalk, orbing directly behind a tree that overlooked the fountain.

_9:12 pm, Palace Garden Fountain, Across from Litteraturhuset, Wergelandsveien 29, 0167 Oslo, Norway_

“She’s in the fountain!” Macy heard a young man cry from the opposite end of the lamplit Slottsparken greenery.

“Who on _earth_ is in the fountain?” yelled Harry, as he and Macy raced forward from where they had landed.

“ _The crazy redhead_!” cried another youth, as a small crowd began to form around the body of water. _Shit, shit, shit,_ Macy thought to herself, as they neared the water’s edge, as they stared on in abject shock. _Morgana, thoroughly drenched, wading about the fount without a care in the world._

“What's going on here?” Macy unsuccessfully attempted to flag down said youth, who ignored her as he snapped a handful of photos on his smartphone, no doubt to give to the _Afterposten_ and whatever tabloids were all the rage in Oslo. She inwardly groaned and motioned Harry over who understood the depth and breadth of memory charms needed. “What the hell is she doing?” she frantically gestured in Morgana’s direction.

“It appears she’s Sylvia in " _La Dolce Vita_ ," as portrayed through Katherine in the movie “Under the Tuscan Sun,”” Harry answered. “She's very good, actually,” he continued, after a moment’s pause; he cleared his throat abruptly as Macy couldn’t help but continue staring due to the utter absurdity of the situation.

 _“Is she drunk?”_ she whispered in Harry’s ear.

He sighed. “ _I certainly hope so_.” Macy glanced at Morgana’s form, which showed not-so-subtle symptoms of aging—her silvery threads were now visible, and the dewy visage she was fiercely proud of had acquired an extra few wrinkles that were impossible _not_ to notice, even from a distance.

A sudden inspiration hit her. “You know,” Macy remarked, channeling her near-perfect memory of “Under the Tuscan Sun,” “in “ _La Dolce Vita_ ,” he goes in and he gets her. _Mastroianni_. He enters the water, makes contact, and he fishes her out.” _Oh gods, do I_ have _to?_ Harry regarded Macy, rather unnerved by the scenario unfolding before their very eyes. Macy nodded. He removed his suit jacket and handed it to her as she patted his shoulder.

She would have gone in herself, were it not for the fact she was wearing a brand-new A-line scoop-necked asymmetrical satin cocktail dress with elaborate beading, creating sleeves that were barely visible save for what resembled intricate ivy that wound itself around her arms. _At least, that’s what she told herself. Harry had a warm suit jacket and could easily orb to acquire additional clothes as necessary._

_9:18 pm, Palace Garden Fountain, Across from Litteraturhuset, Wergelandsveien 29, 0167 Oslo, Norway_

Macy watched as Harry, with much trepidation, removed his dark leather laced shoes and sank into the frigid water, stepping through the fount toward Morgana, who was alternately pouring water from one hand to the other, and sinking her head under the mouth of the fountainhead itself.

“Morgana,” Harry offered his hand, and she took it as gracefully as she could, given her rather sodden predicament.

“Thank you. Do you think I make a good Sylvia?” her emerald eyes glimmered up in his general direction.

“Y-yes,” Harry’s teeth began to chatter. “Y-You were _splendid_ ,” he finished, as Macy met them both at the water’s edge, as he removed his shirt and put the dry suit jacket on in its stead.

_10:30 pm, 2 nd floor Bedroom, Sagene Bok og Papir, Arendalsgata 12, 0463 Oslo, Norway_

Morgana had showered and changed into a flannel pajama set while Harry used the hallway washer and dryer to clean his soggy dress shirt, undershirt, and slacks (his boxer shorts were dry to begin with). Macy fixed themselves each a cup of steaming peppermint tea from the selection of herbs Morgana had in a nearby cabinet, and they sipped in silence several minutes thereafter in the cozy, carpeted room, illuminated by a myriad of ivory-colored jasmine and coconut-scented candles that reminded Macy and Harry of their Epicenter Pico home in the Azores. Various-sized rose quartz crystals hung from hooks alongside each of the windows, as Macy tried hard not to steal glances at Harry’s bare, muscular chest, at least for the sake of Morgana’s dignity.

“I see you no longer have a language partner?” Macy hesitantly ventured, referring to Morgana’s efforts at learning Norwegian _bokmal_ , which included private coffee shop meetings with a certain blond gentleman by the name of Bjørn.

Morgana shook her head from where she was tucked into her twin-sized bed, covered with a bright crimson floral-printed quilt. “Back to Valhalla, _alas_.”

“ _I'm so sorry_ ,” replied Macy softly.

Morgana laughed a bit. “ _Don’t b_ e. I'm fine now. There's nothing like a fountain and a magnum of _Hetta Glögg_ to set oneself straight again.”

 _“Really?”_ Harry couldn’t help but interject, ever-the-optimist.

“What do you think?” responded Morgana sarcastically, with an arched eyebrow.

“Oh.” Harry appeared crestfallen as he awkwardly stared into the bottom of his teacup, the dregs of peppermint leaves curled up within, as if in a demented fetal position. _Morgana,_ he silently realized, had hit rock bottom. In _Oslo_ , of all places.

“You know who I really love the most from all the films?” murmured Morgana. Macy stared over at Harry then back at Morgana, as they both shook their heads.

_“Cabiria.”_

Harry appeared confused as Macy instantly recognized the reference, as she thought of a certain film’s Francesca, hopelessly lost in the Tuscan countryside after a failed marriage back in the States.

 _“You remember at the end when another man has left her, and she thinks it's all over for her?”_ Macy nodded, having an inkling as to where the conversation was headed.

“She sees children,” Macy continued, “right?”

Morgana nodded, her curls graying before their very eyes. “Playing in the street, making music.”

“And before she knows it...she's smiling again,” said Macy.

 _“_ Per Federico Fellini, wise sage of the ages,” Morgana ended, her exhaustion finally catching up with her as her head dropped back onto her pillow and she unceremoniously commenced snoring.

_11 pm, 2 nd floor Bedroom, Sagene Bok og Papir, Arendalsgata 12, 0463 Oslo, Norway_

Macy cleared the small coffee table of the three teacups and washed the teacups in the adjoining bathroom sink. Once Harry’s shirt, undershirt, and slacks were dry, he put them back on in the bathroom and tiptoed back into Morgana’s bedroom, as her snoring droned on.

“Will she be ok, you think?” Macy asked Harry, who wearily surveyed the fast-aging witch, whose arms were beginning to wrinkle and crease ever-so-slightly in the candlelight.

“I think she’s realized her time in Norway is coming to a close, is what _I_ think.” He turned to face his wife. “How about we orb back to the hotel—I’ll check on her in the morning with a fresh cup of “Hair of the Dog” to soothe her impending hangover—”

“Don’t tell her what’s inside, if you can help it,” interjected Macy, recalling the time, decades ago, when she, her sisters, and Harry himself had woken up supremely ill from the past evening’s debauchery. “If you hadn’t told me it was a literal ‘hair of the dog’ I probably wouldn’t have spat it out, _violation notwithstanding_ —"

“I _know_ , love,” Harry said with a wry chuckle. “Once Morgana comes to, we can discuss how she’s getting back to the Azores. I think Matias will be glad to know she’s returning; it’s been a quiet couple of months without her at Faial Market.”

“ _Sounds like a plan_ ,” Macy shakily smiled as she clasped Harry’s arm, vanishing into the starry night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This scene is heavily inspired by "Under the Tuscan Sun" (2003) movie.  
> Under the Tuscan Sun, Movie Dialogue Transcript: http://www.script-o-rama.com/movie_scripts/u/under-the-tuscan-sun-script-transcript.html  
> Macy’s Gown: https://www.jjshouse.com/A-Line-Scoop-Neck-Asymmetrical-Satin-Cocktail-Dress-With-Beading-016197087-g197087/?utm_term=197087&utm_size=06ll#/


	16. MMV: Epicenter Solitude

16 MMV: Epicenter Solitude

_“I know we will never look back/You say you wake up crying/Yes and you don't know why/…Yeah, I guess I'm doing OK…/I will buy you a garden/Where your flowers can bloom…”_

_–Everclear, song “I Will Buy You a New Life”_

_9 am, Week 8, Saturday Morning, Front Garden, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23_

Matilda brushed away a stray tendril of curly hair, beads of perspiration dotting her forehead, as she continued clipping zucchini blossoms for the evening’s dinner of _Fiori Di Zucca Fritti_ , _Italiano_ -style. She recalled the words just days before, “ _until we meet again,”_ that she had whispered in Wyatt’s ear as they embraced each other one final time before she traveled back to Vera Manor via her mother’s backyard laboratory portal.

Her waking hours were as normal as one might expect. _Had Camp Wanaka really happened?_ Sometimes while she read an e-book upstairs in her bedroom atop the second floor, staring out into the verdant wilderness to the glimmering distant stars while surrounded by the hum of fireflies, cicadas, and waterbugs, _she wondered._ Then as she drifted off to sleep, she would imagine herself back on the gently-swaying Bayliner in the cooler climate of Aetearoa, enmeshed in her lover’s arms.

_It had only been five days since she’d departed, but it felt like a lifetime._

Was she emotionally attached? _No, not exactly,_ she kept telling herself as she constantly found reasons to prune the front garden, play with Aunt Maggie and Uncle Jordan’s cat Coquito back at Vera Manor, and go jogging through the neighborhood at odd hours of the morning for far longer than was wise, passing the tiny villages, the expensive gated micro-mansions, the apartments, the cobblestone drives. Like her mother Macy who often showered at 2 am, she too was a nocturnal creature who found a sense of freedom, wandering the darkness in utter solitude.

True, there were moments when she cried in the shower, as she silently berated herself for her sudden show of sappy weakness, rivulets of fluid salt intermingling with the tumbling droplets from the showerhead above. _But it was a one-time instance, and she had bigger fish to fry._

_Including figuring out what came next._

Matilda had spent the past three evenings typing away at her phone, creating a “Career Ideas” notes section (she never used actual journal paper, for fear of accidentally setting it ablaze).

_Ideas: Parisian sous-chef, being an extra on Hell’s Kitchen, seasonal temp work at Burning Man, Renaissance Fair fire dancer, PR consultant (color symbology, fire??)_

She sighed. Most of the jobs she wrote down were temporary/seasonal or high-pressure. She knew being a published author was out of the question, as this meant subjecting paperbacks to a conflagration risk, and she couldn’t work in any of the typical trade industries—most of which used fire in concentrated amounts, or sought to stem the use of it in entirety. _The only logical solution seemed to become a consultant._ It seemed like a catch-all-type role that she could grow into, provided a livable wage, and didn’t involve screaming at people as much as the other roles ( _so she thought, anyways_ ). _Consultant it was, then_.

Her parents were thrilled at her proposed career choice and had received a satisfactory report of her exemplary work at Camp Wanaka; her community service requirement was lifted, though she secretly wished she could return. _Why hadn’t she chosen to?_ She didn’t want to seem the clingy type, and she figured their summer romance was that— _a summer romance._ Besides, if she went back a year later to surprise Wyatt and he was off to another locale, she would be stuck in the middle of New Zealand, virtually cut off from civilization. _Plus, she’d look stupid, besides._ A girl chasing after a guy. _Definitely not a good look for the likes of Matilda Valensi._

_9:15 am, Front Garden, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23_

Matilda had neatly clipped seven zucchini blossoms approximately the size of the palm of her hand, when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around, finding herself face-to-face with the older visage of none other than Morgana herself.

“Morgana!” she exclaimed, as they excitedly embraced. “ _You’re home!”_ They both began to tear up despite themselves.

“I couldn’t stay far from my little _juvenile delinquent_ , now could I?” Morgana remarked, tapping the girl’s nose affectionately. It seemed like yesterday that Matilda’s mother Macy was gardening in the very same _jardin_ , when Morgana had honed her emerald eagle-eyes on Macy’s abdomen and found her with child for a second time—with _twins,_ no less—one of which stood before her today, bright red curls and all.

“You got my letter then,” replied Matilda, both embarrassed and relieved. Morgana nodded. “It’s been an _insane_ summer—”

“ _I heard_ ,” chuckled Morgana. “How about you leave your gardening tools in the shed and I fix you a nice cup of iced tea in my kitchen? I’d simply _love_ to hear all about it…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Subsequent Chapters: What happens when Matilda bumps into Wyatt? What happens when Matilda and her family (Macy, Harry, etc.) meet Wyatt's Grandma Piper?


	17. TSoT/MMV: Five Years Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This begins "Matilda, Child of Fire, Part 2: Thirty Shades of Tangerine (TSoT)."  
> Recommendation: Listen to Ben Flatt’s “Grow as We Go”

17 TSoT/MMV: Five Years Later: Thirty Shades of Tangerine

_“You need to go and find yourself/You say you’d rather be alone/’Cause you think you won’t find it tied to someone else…”_

_–Ben Platt, song “Grow As We Go”_

_10 am Azores/6 am EST, Five Years Later, Matilda’s Bedroom, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23_

_A smoky sunlit haze emanated throughout the ornately-styled plaster crown-molding of the Old World French apartment stairwell as she traversed the walkway upward, her curls bouncing, admiring what she imagined to be 24 karat gold paint on an intricate, gargantuan six-paneled hammered-glass window, but as of yet remained silver-gray in this monochromatic montage._

_All of a sudden, she felt an unseen force—where was it from? Chasing her, pursuing her—and she understood in her instantaneous fight-or-flight response, that she had to run away, as far as her legs could possibly carry her; she heard echoes between the stairs, underneath, beneath her as she continued her pursuit of a safe haven in the veritable labyrinth she had found herself in._

_As she continued racing up the stairs, she felt the ground shift beneath her feet, from stone or whatever solid material it was—into what she recognized as the same sand-colored Japanese tatami bamboo material that lined the second floor of Epicenter Pico No. 23, her childhood home in the Azores._

_Upstairs, and through a landing and past one—two—then three more corridors—she perceived herself hunted by an unseen creature. She didn’t want to whirl around to determine whether the being was good or evil—all she knew in her frenzied imagination was to secret herself away in the massive Parisian-style hybridized endroit meant limitless safety and security. Rounding a corner, she suddenly found herself facing a child’s nursery in what appeared to be a British boarding school, a piece of paper with a green crayon-scrawl that she believed was her name. Purely on impulse, she ducked behind the bright, if not mildly outdated room, trying to shut the lightweight white door, to wall herself in for the longest of eternities._

_But the door wouldn’t shut—not completely—as she found herself frantically yanking the door—_

Matilda awoke with a start. _It was just a dream,_ she realized, as she heard the opening lyrics of Ben Platt’s “Grow As We Go” playing on her alarm radio clock. _Day 1 of the new job._ Adjusting to the light streaming through her balcony window, she blinked sleepily, looking past her dark emerald-green crocheted bedcovers, her goldenrod-hued bedsheets, and myriad patterned pillows, toward her fireproof glazed wood table at the foot of her bed, her potted plants perfectly in place. Matilda’s simple ivory-colored nightstands were perched on either side of her queen-sized mattress, each with its own tiny cubic lamp, its stem composed of gold-painted bronze in the shape of tropical bamboo common to the Azores; the wallpaper at the head of her bed was an enlarged photographic print of a forest she’d admired back in Seattle, where Vera Manor was situated. _Her second home._

 _Here goes nothing,_ she thought to herself, as she put on the clothing she had carefully set aside for the momentous occasion. Black slacks, a maroon silk sleeveless camisole blouse to compliment her now-auburn hair, and a houndstooth grey blazer made up her chic ensemble. She dashed out her bedroom door, past the stylized recreation room hallway of polished wood, and down the wrought-iron steep circular staircase to the kitchen, where she greeted her parents, grabbed her lunch and a protein bar, and hastily bade her farewells.

_10:45 am Azores/6:45 am EST, Epicenter Pico No. 23 to Purgatory Corporation_

Matilda ran her finger along the sterling silver ring she wore, containing five tiny baguette-cut diamonds, side-by-side. _One diamond for each member of the family._ Her father Harry had channeled Jimmy’s silversmithing skills and made it for her during the past summer, imbuing it with Whitelighter magic so she could instantly portal to her new job. She secretly wondered whether it could be used for arriving at locations besides work and home but hadn’t had the chance to test it out.

Her father mentioned when he presented it to her the evening before, that other locations were only in “truly _dire_ cases of emergency,” and were not to be trifled with. Her younger, more impetuous self would have instantly seen that as a challenge, but in the intervening years, her temper had cooled somewhat, and she had seen enough of Camp Wanaka and the surrounding magical world to know not to go looking for danger if one could help it.

_7 am, Gateway Subway Station, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

Having landed in a darkened corridor of the Gateway Subway Station, Matilda dusted herself off and proceeded to the exit. In the next minute or so, she found herself walking past Gateway Park, admiring the various forms of artwork on display, coupled with greenery, a distant metal-worn bridge, and the surrounding urbane cityscape that ran alongside the wide Monongahela River. She made a left onto Boulevard of the Allies, a sharp left onto Stanwix Street, a right onto Fourth Avenue, and suddenly found herself facing a monstrous behemoth of a building.

_7:30 am, Lobby, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

_Workdays sure start early here_ , Matilda silently thought to herself as she carefully moved through the revolving doors and checked in with the front desk receptionist in the airy, glass-enclosed lobby, whose flooring was of nondescript granite. After completing the necessary signatures and display of proper identification, she was pointed in the direction of the waiting area chairs, which appeared equally unremarkable, yet rather unexpectedly comfortable. _Perhaps it was due to the nature of waiting in purgatory, that people designed furniture_ just _so,_ she silently mused to herself as she surveyed her surroundings.

_7:50 am, Lobby, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

After waiting some time (and making a trip to the restroom to check her hair and reapply an extra coat of claret-colored lipstick she borrowed from her mother), the receptionist called her over, mentioning that her boss and mentor would be arriving shortly. _Did she want a cup of coffee or tea?_ the kind woman had asked. _No thanks,_ Matilda had replied, still a jumble of nerves, though she remained externally impassive.

_8 am, Elevator, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

The numbers ticked upward as she stood a polite distance away from her new boss, a tall, thin, aged gentleman named Nelson who appeared to be seventy. _Friendly enough,_ Matilda deemed him, as they chatted about their respective families and career backgrounds. Apparently, he ( _like everyone else in these parts)_ came from a magical family, though he hadn’t yet disclosed what his particular power was. Matilda didn’t feel it polite to pry and took her social cues from him as he happily discussed how he began his career as an entry-level consultant back in 1997 during the looming Y2K crisis that was thankfully averted due to collaborative efforts of witches and warlocks alike. _Man, he sounded absolutely ancient._

“You’ll be paired with a mentor during your first year here,” continued Nelson, as Matilda’s attention span waxed and waned with the drone of his sonorous voice. “You’ll like him, he’s got on-the-ground experience like yourself, great with kids, creative with PR campaigns, _very_ personable. I consider him like my own grandson,” he smiled to himself.

_8:10 am, 88 th Floor, Alcove, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

The elevator doors slowly opened, as Matilda and Nelson stepped out onto the marble-floored hallway, bathed completely in ethereal colors of pearl and cream. Her mouth dropped open. _This place is unreal_ , she thought to herself. She barely noticed the well-dressed, coiffed gentleman seated in the minimalist-chic waiting area in front of her, with cubic leather seating. Nor did she notice his startled expression upon viewing her crimson curls.

_8:15 am, 88 th Floor, Alcove, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

The dapper young man strode forward. “Meet your mentor, Wyatt Halliwell Jr.!” Nelson exclaimed jovially as Matilda stared with a frozen, horrified expression, before recovering herself momentarily. _Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit,_ she inwardly cringed. This _cannot_ be happening right now. She had barely recognized him, with his now-cropped dark hair and formal ensemble. _So much for escaping her past._

Examining the expressions of the two young adults before him, Nelson couldn’t help but notice neither of them extended a hand. “Oh, don’t be shy!” the older gentleman attempted to break the ice. _Kids these days._

“ _Um_ —” squeaked Matilda, “we’re not—”

“ _We’ve already met_ —” interjected Wyatt, noticing that Matilda’s cheeks were starting to turn color.

“Oh, you two know each other?” Nelson was pleased to hear this, immensely oblivious to the discomfort surrounding the former lovers, Matilda in particular, whose hands were balled up in her houndstooth suit pockets, trying to resist the urge to orb away or burst into flames on the spot.

“From camp,” muttered Matilda, raising her chin to make eye contact with both of the men. _Play it cool, play it cool,_ she told herself. _It’s been five years, Wyatt doesn’t give a flying fuck about me_. _Why would he?_ “Excuse me—” she said, barely above a whisper. “Where’s your powder room?”

_8:20 am, 88 th Floor, Coat Closet Next to Ladies’ Restroom, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

Matilda reached inside her purse and speed-dialed her older-by-minutes twin brother Henry. After a couple of rings, he picked up. “ _Matilda,”_ he remonstrated, “I’m in the middle of TA’ing a metaphysics philosophy class—can this wait?"

“ _No,_ ” she responded. “It’s an _emergency—”_

“Who’s in trouble?” she could hear him perk up. “Is it Matias? _Morgana_?”

“No,” she shook her head, knowing full well he couldn’t see her expression. “It’s _Wyatt.”_

“Wyatt _who?_ And where are you calling from? _”_

 _“Summer Wyatt!”_ she hissed, cursing as her ankle tripped over what appeared to be a dusty 1980s Yellowpages phone book. _Fuck._ “I’m in the women’s coat closet at work—"

She heard him utter an exasperated sigh on the opposite line. “Tilly, I’m in the middle of explaining Paramenides to thirty sophomores—and you called me about a _fling_? From a _closet?_ ”

“HERE. At _WORK_. Wyatt’s at _work_. _As my mentor_ ,” Matilda enunciated every word, knowing that Henry was the trusted voice of reason that could see a solution through life’s most challenging problems, physical, emotional, social, or otherwise. _Much like their father Harry, in fact._

“Oh.” He paused, lost for words. _Damn, that’s an awkward situation_ , he thought, looking over his shoulder at his horde of students, half of whom looked hungover from the previous night’s fraternity party. 

“What do you mean, _oh_?” Matilda wasn’t letting him off easily.

“Oh… _shit_?” Henry sympathized with the incredibly uncomfortable situation, but had no idea what _he_ , as her brother, could do from where he was currently situated—in the back woods of Vermont.

“Don’t ‘ _oh, shit’_ me—what the _fuck_ do I do now?” Matilda muttered as she stared through the keyhole into the carpeted makeup room that led further into the restroom itself. From where she was, she could see a myriad of elegant ply-tissues, makeup samples, Q-tips, sanitary napkins ( _the good kind_ ), and more. _Pity Wyatt being here had to ruin it all._

Henry paused for a beat. “Distance?” he proposed, after some thinking, as he continued visually monitoring his students’ progress, as he saw a couple nearly nod off in their ontological studies.

“Great idea!” Matilda exclaimed, sounding relieved as her mind began to calculate her avenues and various options available. “I’ll request a transfer ASAP,” and with that, she hung up and exited the closet.

Henry heard the vacuous tell-tale dial tone after Matilda’s rapid conversational departure. “ _All I want is a normal life_ ,” he muttered as he put his phone back in his pocket, speaking to no one in particular.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Themes of Part II inspired by Ben Flatt’s song “Grow as We Go”: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aDeNQNtW1f8&list=RDpQD40qZ7b5I&index=8  
> Purgatory Corporation is inspired by PPG Place, Downtown Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/PPG_Place


	18. TSoT/HMV: Winter in Norwegian Wood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommendation: Listen to Bailey Pelkman's slow rendition cover of KT Tunstall's "Suddenly I See": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MgKSIwi-cEQ

18 TSoT/HMV: Winter in Norwegian Wood

_“Og alt rundt henne er et sølv lysbasseng”_

_Translation: “And everything around her is a silver pool of light”_

_-Bailey Pelkman cover (slow version) of KT Tunstall, song “Suddenly I See”_

_7 pm, Universitetsgata, Oslo, Norway_

Wearing sleek, wool-lined winter boots and holding each other’s gloved hand, Harry and Macy carefully plodded down Stortingsgata toward Roald Amundsens gate. They had come prepared for the season, having donned thick scarves, sleek Nordic coats, and (in Macy’s case) stylish black velvet earmuffs. The pair turned right and continued down Universitetsgata, passing what appeared to be a large field called “Studenterlunden Park,” its landscape now covered in an inches-thick layer of pristine snow. _A perfect escape to welcome the first day of the Northern Lights, or Aurora Borealis,_ Macy mused to herself as wafts of their breath were made visible in the crisp, frigid air _. It was amazing the date nights Harry had planned up his sleeve these days…_

The beckoning conversational, cacophonous clatter of cozy restaurants emanated forth, interspersed with the _koselig_ glow of the Christmas Market, its wooden stalls filled with busy holiday shoppers and cheery carolers. Harry noticed how each symmetrical line of market stalls, with lights overhead, converged on one singular point—the tall evergreen Christmas tree, fully decked out in twinkling holiday lights and ornaments of every which shape, size, and color. Macy, still holding Harry’s hand, gasped aloud at the mesmerizingly captivating snowy scene.

“Are you alright, love?” Harry’s well-meaning gaze fell upon his wife.

Macy nodded as she quietly squeezed his hand. “ _The tealights_ ,” she murmured, half to herself, drinking in the beauty of her surroundings. “It’s _so_ beautiful.” She silently counted and multiplied the number of market stall rows and the number of stringed lights above them—so far, she had estimated _two thousand_ being used. _Damn that’s a lot of tealights,_ she mused to herself, as she detected a faint whiff of fresh cardamom-infused gingerbread and aromatic piping-hot apple cider brewing in the distance.

To their right further down was a long, rectangular ice skating rink, mainly used by local sports teams for training over the summer, or else closed off; Macy recalled that the rink itself was free and open to the public from November to March every winter season. _And indeed, it was November._

_7:30 pm, Spikersuppa Ice Rink, Universitetsgata, Oslo, Norway_

Harry exchanged his _kroner_ for two pairs of ice skates, both made of eggshell-colored leather, with sturdy wooden-rubber soles upon which were affixed a sleek metal blade designed specifically for the ice that lay before them. To their right, separated by a wooden fence, was the giant Christmas Market centerpiece tree in all its splendor; to their left were three white tent gables from which shoppers could gaze upon the festive holiday scenery.

They spent the next several minutes lacing themselves up, after which they balanced themselves tenuously on the other, making their way toward the glistening sheen of the glossy, slippery, frigid rink surface. Macy understood that Oslo was filled with fancy executive office buildings; indeed, she saw one in the distance, its _Fjordlcraft_ logo faintly glowing in the darkness, but here, she was with her husband of countless years, to enjoy a transatlantic night on the town. She heard the loudspeaker echoes of the next song, which to her surprise, wasn’t holiday-themed at all, but rather a slower and altogether ethereal, haunting cover version of KT Tunstall’s “Suddenly I See,” made famous by its use years ago in the movie “Devil Wears Prada.”

On a whim, Macy broke away from Harry’s grip, and skated forward, doing a figure eight in the middle of the rink, laughing aloud at the sheer surrealist absurdity and sublime beauty of being _here_ , in _Norway_ of all places, once more. If someone had asked her twenty-five-year-old scientific self where she saw herself in three decades, she would’ve said the basement of a laboratory in a big city, far, far away, tinkering away on the next big discovery and/or project. _Little had she known she would become one of the three gifted Charmed Ones, married to a Whitelighter husband who positively worshipped the ground she walked on._

She glanced over her shoulder to Harry, who was open-mouthed, and holding onto one of the wooden side benches that lined the ice rink. “ _What?”_ she asked, intrigued by his expression. He shook his head, smiling to himself as he pushed forward, eventually skating over to be by her side.

“Do you know how _divine_ you look?” Harry murmured, his eyes twinkling, as he spoke mere inches away from Macy.

“Maybe, but it’s only because you’re here to remind me— _and I love it when you do,_ ” she replied back flirtatiously. Macy would have held hands skating forward with Harry, but she had learned in skating lessons as a child, that one was more likely to stumble and fall that way, due to shifting centers of gravity atop the hardened surface. _Something about equal and opposing forces from one of her physics lessons back in the day._

_7:34 pm, Spikersuppa Ice Rink, Universitetsgata, Oslo, Norway_

Harry and Macy gracefully skated across the icy surface, one time, twice, then three times, at a slow then moderate pace. The center of the rink had what appeared to be a lamplit post, encircled by a wooden seating area in the event skaters’ legs grew tired, and they wanted to people watch anyways. Wishing to experiment, Macy motioned Harry to take both of her hands in his, and she skated backwards as he followed forwards in her direction. In all their years of marriage, Harry had never grown tired of spending time with his curly-haired beloved.

_7:45 pm, Spikersuppa Ice Rink, Universitetsgata, Oslo, Norway_

Noticing that they’d been skating for awhile, Macy motioned Harry over to the center bench of the rink, where that sat in silence, observing the small blond-haired children, and older teens, brunettes, dark-haired folk, congregating and gliding in effervescent ellipses around them both. “I like that song,” remarked Macy. “The _cover_ , I mean,” she said, clarifying. “It reminds me of—"

“— _Matilda_ ,” finished Harry, his hand clasped in hers. Macy nodded.

“Someone once told me that as a mother, I’d be only as happy as my least happy child,” she said after several more seconds had passed.

“Sounds rather unpleasant to tell a woman,” Harry couldn’t help but remark with the raise of his eyebrow, and Macy laughed.

“I don’t think it was meant that way,” she replied. “Maybe the person meant that as a mother, you worry about how your kids are doing, no matter how old they are—and whether they’re happy or not. A mother’s job—”she peered over at Harry—“and a father’s job, _for that matter_ —are kind of never-ending, in a funny sort of way…” Macy trailed off, as she watched a small child trip and fall in the distance, the child’s mother standing back watching the tiny person rise back up and continue skating.

“I always used to worry about Matilda, given her troubling fire powers. Would she be happy? Would she have a solid career? Would she eventually find the love of her life?” Macy mused aloud, as her husband listened.

“Macy, _love_ , she _is_ happy enough with her life,” Harry responded, reaching an arm out to hug Macy and bring her closer for warmth. “Matilda’s come a long way from who she was at twenty-one, and I think that’s due to no small effort from ourselves—and Morgana—and whatever on earth happened at Camp Wanaka. Her time there gave her a level of focus and discipline I’d never seen in her before—”

Macy nodded. “True. And now our littlest girl is all grown up, starting a brand-new consulting job at Purgatory Corporation—in _Pittsburgh!_ ”

“Honestly, I’m just glad she isn’t in jail—” Harry couldn’t help but remark, as Macy elbowed him in the ribs. “ _What?_ I’m just being _honest,_ she was a right juvenile delinquent back in the day—”

“But she’s changed. And this job will be a fresh start for her. _I just know it._ Something tells me this’ll be the best thing that’s ever happened to her,” Macy stated, as she reached over, smoothed Harry’s chestnut and silver-flecked hair from his temple, and kissed him squarely on the lips, as it began to snow once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by:  
> Oslo Christmas Market: https://www.heartmybackpack.com/norway/oslo-christmas-markets/#:~:text=The%20main%20Christmas%20market%20in,%2C%20sweets%2C%20and%20hot%20drinks.  
> Spikersuppa Ice Rink, Oslo, Norway: https://www.visitnorway.com/listings/spikersuppa-ice-skating-rink/488/  
> Bailey Pelkman's cover of KT Tunstall's "Suddenly I See": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MgKSIwi-cEQ


	19. TSoT/MMV: Persephone of Purgatory

19 TSoT/MMV: Persephone of Purgatory

_“I’m messing up the place/Kicking down the door/Never wanna see his face no more…”_

_-Gin Wigmore, song “Man Like That”_

_7:30 am, 88 th Floor, Next Day, Alcove, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

The elevator doors swung open, as Matilda stepped out onto the pearlescent marble-floored hallway, coffee thermos and laptop bag in hand, along with her purse. She strode toward the minimalist-chic waiting area in front of her and sat on one of the cubic leather seats, planning to spend the next fifteen minutes composing her dissonant thoughts, as it was impossible to do so over at Epicenter Pico, especially with her parents eagerly wanting to know how her first day went. Luckily, they were mostly preoccupied with her mother’s ongoing laboratory research, so she was able to get away with a vague enough answer. Matilda didn’t see her parents enough for things to be suffocating or otherwise overwhelming, and to their credit, they trusted her enough that they never questioned her comings and goings.

 _First order of business,_ she thought to herself, tying her curly auburn hair in a ponytail, _was to switch mentors ASAP._ She checked the company’s website on her laptop’s intranet connection to figure out who else was available. _There appeared to be a lengthy list…_

_7:38 am, 88 th Floor, Waiting Area, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

Matilda frowned as she took two more sips of coffee. As it turned out, there were a hundred other mentors available, but none of them appeared remotely interested in fire magic, save two or three. Of said number, at least one was already taken, the other was on sabbatical, and the final was recovering in a burn ward of a local hospital. _That couldn’t be good._ She decided to jot down those three names anyways, in the (highly, _highly_ unlikely) event there was an opening.

_8 am, 88 th Floor, Head Supervisor’s Office, Conflagration Department, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

She stared at the towering, shadowy crystalline door in front of her that matched the building’s modern Neo-Gothic glass exterior, wondering if it was remotely possible for such an entryway to bite back (both physically _and_ mentally), given this was a skyscraper edifice full of magical beings of various strengths and powers. She pictured the supervisor turning evil and cackling, angry that she was questioning his purgatorial judgment, as he pushed a button that would cause her to drop through the floor and onto a tiger den underneath. _Was that possible?_ _Only one way to find out._

_8:01 am, 88 th Floor, Head Supervisor’s Office, Conflagration Department, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

After knocking once, to Matilda’s surprise, she heard a lilting feminine voice call out from within. “Door’s open!” And indeed, upon the woman’s words, the barrier creaked open just enough for Matilda to sidle through; she couldn’t help but gape at the expansive, airy glass-enclosed office. _The secretary seemed nice enough,_ Matilda assumed as she walked deliberately toward the lone chair in the vaguely intimidating office, which faced a desk and an accompanying armchair which obscured the presence of who she assumed was the Head Supervisor. Suddenly, the armchair whirled around, causing Matilda to gasp in surprise. _The Head Supervisor was female. Not just_ any _female, but the Greek goddess Persephone herself!_

_8:02 am, 88 th Floor, Head Supervisor’s Office, Conflagration Department, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

“Surprised?” the woman asked of Matilda, who stood rooted to the spot next to the chair. “Everyone always is at first—can’t imagine _why._ Sit, _please._ ” She gestured to the auburn-haired girl who dumbly sat as ordered. _A suggestion was always an order when it came to goddesses of the underworld,_ Matilda implicitly understood; she had instantly recognized the goddess from her childhood storybooks back home at Epicenter Pico No. 23, long, flowing locks, pristine floral crown, toga-like garment, and all.

“I-I thought—” stammered Matilda, trying to think of a vaguely plausible excuse for her utter shock. “…I thought that _Nelson_ was my supervisor.”

“Oh, _child_ ,” Persephone laughed aloud, “he’s my second-in-command. I spend part of my time here and during the other half, he takes over. For me, being at Purgatory Corporation makes things easier, straddling two worlds—the living and the dead, and all that. Plus splitting duties, me being female, him male—it’s more egalitarian that way, _wouldn’t you agree_?” She looked pointedly at the girl before her.

Matilda nodded. _This was a lot to take in, especially on her second day of work. Still, here goes nothing._ “Um, Lady Underworld— _Queen_ —I mean, _Mrs._ — _I mean—_ ” she stammered.

“Persephone will do.”

“Ok, um, _Persephone,_ ” began Matilda, “can I switch mentors? I think there’s been a mistake.”

A thin smile appeared on Persephone’s lips. _Interesting._ “Quite the contrary. There’s been no mistake, I assure you. You and Wyatt are a perfect match from your _curriculum vitae_. You each have world-famous Whitelighter origins, top-notch conflagration expertise, not to mention superb letters of reference from Paige Matthews from Camp Wanaka during its inaugural season.”

Matilda uttered the barest of audible groans. _This_ cannot _be happening_. She buried her face in her hands.

“ _Look at me,_ Matilda,” Persephone leaned forward, her flowing hair swaying from an invisible breeze, as Matilda lifted her head. “From a professional perspective, it’s time for you to ascend into your gift of fire power. I _get_ that this might make things awkward—the magical world is quite small.”

 _No, you actually don’t get it,_ Matilda silently thought to herself. _And I can’t make you, of all deities, possibly understand._ Despite her loudmouth impulses, she remained stoically silent.

“I must admit, it took me awhile for me to piece it together. Then I saw your job application with Camp Wanaka listed, and put two-and-two together. Did Wyatt ever hurt you at camp?” Persephone asked out of the blue, concern evident in her expressive eyes. Matilda vehemently shook her head, as her ponytail began to come loose. “Cause you irreparable physical, mental, emotional harm? Anything beyond the pale?” Again, she responded nonverbally, in the negative, bracing herself all the while. _This was not how Matilda had expected this conversation to go._

_8:05 am, 88 th Floor, Head Supervisor’s Office, Conflagration Department, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

“I’m giving you the chance I never had, to grow acquainted with someone extraordinarily well-matched to yourself, on your own terms—” Matilda scoffed at this remark, but Persephone clarified, “—with the freedom to go home and come back as you wish. I wasn’t given a choice, and I haven’t exactly forgiven my husband for that. He’s forever trying to make it up to me, _pun intended—_ ”

“Am I a thought experiment to you?” Matilda finally found her voice, daring to look Persephone directly in the eye.

To her surprise, the goddess laughed. “ _Aren’t all humans?_ ”

_8:08 am, 88 th Floor, Head Supervisor’s Office, Conflagration Department, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

Matilda rose from her seat and strode toward the door, as the meeting seemed to have reached a natural close. Persephone called after her softly. “He called you _Val_ , didn’t he?” The auburn-haired girl froze in her tracks, her hand poised above the intricately carved crystal doorknob.

“ _He misses you, you know_.”

_8:10 am, 88 th Floor, Hallway Outside Head Supervisor’s Office, Conflagration Department, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

In the middle of running an errand, Wyatt sped past Persephone’s office and what appeared to be a mop of coppery curls. Doing a double-take, he rounded the next corner and, unnoticed, peeked over. _Val, releasing her ponytail tie, curls aflutter._ He watched as she held the tie in her teeth, creating tiny crescent-like indentations in its firm-yet-supple rubbery thread, as her slender fingers delicately combed her stray, glittering tendrils in a tidier hairdo this time around. Their mentorship would officially begin in a couple of days once orientation was over, and he still hadn’t had a chance to talk to her alone about their time at Camp Wanaka. _For all he knew, it was entirely possible that she was actively avoiding him. But…why?_

In the intervening years since his time at camp, Wyatt had caught himself dreaming of Val and her captivatingly crimson hair. After some time, he wished for a release from the cruel, ironic agony of having met someone he thought he would never see again—someone that felt as right as the fiercely-burning stars in the celestial evening sky. A _soulmate_ , if such a thing were possible. At one point, he briefly contemplated permanent memory erasure so he would suffer no longer. _Of course, Matilda had no idea._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by NZ singer Gin Wigmore's song "Man Like That": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=is6AFxPkTAA


	20. TSoT/HMV: Hacy on the Hiring Committee

20 TSoT/HMV: Hacy on the Hiring Committee

_“I know what I know, what I know, what I know, what I know…”_

_-Kimbra, song “Human”_

_6:50 am, Saturday, Morgana’s Kitchen, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico Neighborhood_

Harry stared at the sheet of paper Morgana passed him and Macy for technical editing. He hadn’t imagined, five years ago, that Morgana’s demands for retirement were to come to fruition in such an odd manner, and at so early a weekend hour. The last obstetrician she vetted had, once again, disappeared, this time for good it seemed, according to the note left at Morgana’s doorstep the previous morning. Harry’s former position as Hilltowne University’s Chair of Women’s Studies and Macy’s scientific and Charmed One background warranted enough of Morgana’s interest as to have her place them both on her three-person obstetrical hiring committee.

\--------------------------Magical Obstetrical Hiring Committee: Azores Islands: _Antes morrer livres_ \-------------

1—Qualifications: board certified (magical _and_ mortal), advanced certification in maternal-fetal magical medicine, a subspecialty for women with high-risk magical pregnancies ( _holistic experience welcome)_

2—Doctor’s Background: length of time practicing ( _magical realm/dimension taken into consideration_ ), extra field training if any ( _century, country, time period_ ), whether he/she performs C-sections, number of births attended in career ( _succubus births a plus though not necessary_ ), number of births attended in average month

3—Labor and Delivery: contingency plan if unavailable, hospital magical point-of-contact(s) ( _mortal contacts if no other option_ )

4—Standard Prenatal Care: nutrition, birth plans ( _discussion of magic dampening safety techniques_ )

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“ _Er,_ Morgana—” began Harry, as Morgana plunked down piping-hot cups of Earl Grey tea for Harry and herself, and a cup of strong coffee for Macy, “you might not want to affix the Azores Island motto to the hiring committee emblem—”

“And _why_ is that?” Morgana’s emerald eyes flashed indignantly, as she snatched the piece of paper from his grasp.

“Because,” interjected Macy, just as bleary-eyed as Harry, “’ _Antes morrer livres’_ literally means ‘ _Rather die free than subjected in peace.’_ The obstetrician’s job literally is to bring new magical life into the world. Is this the message we want to send?” Morgana’s shoulders slumped as she shook her head.

“I thought it sounded unique,” she said, crestfallen. Macy patted Morgana’s shoulder sympathetically.

“ _I know_ ,” replied Macy.

“Also,” Harry spoke up. “I’d recommend renaming the hiring committee.”

“Why, pray tell?” Morgana raised an eyebrow.

“Magical Obstetrical Hiring Committee’s acronym is MOHC. Too similar to “ _mock,”_ no? Can’t have future interviewees thinking we lack accreditation standards or, heaven forbid, don’t take our job seriously—”

“—Because, of _course_ we do—” inserted Macy, attempting to stifle a yawn. She had been up late the previous night waiting for Matilda to come home from work, in addition to centrifuging her latest 5000-sample set of Cyclops ocular protein back at Vera Manor. Traveling between multiple time zones was certainly exhausting.

_7:30 am, Morgana’s Kitchen, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico Neighborhood_

“So—this piece of paper—is it for—” Macy paused, scrutinizing its contents, “designing a job application for magical obstetricians?”

Morgana shook her head. “More for our awareness when we interview the candidates.”

Harry leaned forward, switching on his academia mindset. “And just _how_ will we find said candidates, exactly?”

“LinkedIn, Monster, Indeed, and other scouting techniques,” responded Morgana. “The magical obstetrics specialty is hard to come by, but we can’t create an ad. It’d mean risking exposing non-magic mortals to our realm.”

 _Reasonable enough._ “What do you suggest, then?” asked Macy, taking a sip of her coffee. _Ooh, nice and strong,_ she thought to herself, as she peered over at Morgana.

“Same’s what I did before,” Morgana produced her own phone with the various scouting websites and muttered a few words in Portuguese, a language common to the islands:

“ _Ajude-nos a procurar um obstetra mágico,_

 _Ajude-nos a encontrar uma flor especial com talento_.”

Instantly, the profiles and corresponding electronic resumes from each of the three websites were drawn forward onto a new fourth list, displaying qualified medico-magical practitioners in the relevant field.

“ _Impressive!_ ” Harry exclaimed. “Absolutely _brilliant!_ ” Morgana beamed, unused to such praise.

_7:50 am, Saturday, Morgana’s Kitchen, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico Neighborhood_

“And our job is…?” Macy trailed off, glancing at the sheet in front of her coupled with the fourth list, and back up at Morgana.

“ _Your_ job is to filter through the fourth list, deciding who to interview based on the criteria on the sheet I gave you. Later, you’ll both help me interview the candidates. _Be my extra pairs of eyes,_ if you will _._ The interview itself will go based off a set of Q&A scenarios, which I’ll create once we complete the first set of tasks.”

Harry and Macy nodded as they each took another sip of their respective beverages. _They certainly had their work cut out for them._


	21. TSoT/MMV: Pretty Little Pyro Practice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommendation: Listen to Kelly Clarkson's song "Dark Side": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H5ArpRWcGe0

21 TSoT/MMV: Pretty Little Pyro Practice

_“There’s a place that I know/It’s not pretty there and few have ever gone/If I show it to you now/Will it make you run away?/Everybody’s got a dark side/Do you love me? Can you love mine?”_

_-Kelly Clarkson, song “Dark Side”_

_7:30 am, Three Days Later, 88 th Floor, Alcove, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

The elevator doors swung open as Matilda stepped out onto the pearlescent marble-floored hallway, coffee thermos, personal belongings, and all. Her olive green dress fluttered this way and that as she walked toward the minimalist-chic waiting area in front of her and sat on one of the cubic leather seats, her hand fidgeting around the key that Persephone had left on her desk two afternoons ago, encouraging her to try her hand at pyro-target practice in the building’s fireproof basement. _Day one of Wyatt_ , she thought to herself, thoroughly dreading it.

Upon seeing Wyatt waiting in the alcove feet away from her, she stood, nodded a curt hello, and strode past to summon the elevator once more, which opened almost instantaneously. They both stepped in, and the elevator doors shuddered to a close, as she pressed the button that would take them both to the basement.

_7:38 am, Elevator, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

Wyatt began to utter niceties, but Matilda sharply cut him off. “ _Listen, don’t talk—”_ she hissed, staring straight ahead as they descended downward, whizzing past each floor with dizzying speed. “ _I’m keeping things professional. Call me “Val” in front of others and I will_ end _you_. _Am I clear?"_

“ _Crystal_ ,” he responded, barely above a whisper, not daring to move a muscle lest Matilda scorch his freshly pressed linen shirt.

_7:50 am, Basement Target Practice Room, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

The elevator landed with a single reverberating echo, opening to reveal a nondescript door further up ahead. Walking a few steps, Matilda stopped just short of the entryway and shakily twisted the key into the door, which swung open to reveal an equally-plain slate-colored room made of what appeared to be cement, but which was likely enchanted due to its advertised fire-proof, bulletproof quality.

She entered the minimalist space, followed by Wyatt, which was empty save for a smattering of Dutch _Pulk_ design brand pieces on one end of the room, consisting of a _Shunan_ coffee table: a circular flat black piece of iron atop four stool legs that intersected in a perpendicular fashion at its bottom; and several _Plus Hexagon_ gold-colored hexagonal velvet pillows piled in a corner of the room alongside a couple of _Plus Rectangle_ royal blue-colored pillows. Atop the _Shunan_ coffee table was a _Rare_ crystal beaker-shaped decanter as well as two accompanying angular _Radiant_ crystal water glasses and what appeared to be a simple candle stick.

_7:55 am, Basement Target Practice Room, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

Matilda faced the opposite end of the room, her back to the various Dutch pieces. _How was this supposed to work?_ She made as if to remove an earring entirely, but Wyatt called out. “Not that way, Val!” She sighed.

“Then _how?_ ” In response, Wyatt, with a _pop_ , orbed directly to the candlestick, then _popped_ and appeared feet away from Matilda herself. _Showoff,_ she thought to herself, barely resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

“Loosen an earring and light the candle wick on fire,” Wyatt said calmly, and Matilda did so, tweaking her earring back about a millimeter precisely. She glanced at the flame and back at Wyatt. _Seriously? This was too easy._ “Ok, next, make the flame leave the wick and hover in the air unsupported.”

“ _Easy for you to say,”_ she grumbled under her breath. Her first attempt merely caused the flame to flicker atop the candle for a moment, before sticking firmly to its waxen surface. Matilda attempted a second time, then a third, using a sharp upward wave of her left hand followed by a pedestrian crosswalk “halt” gesture, all with the same hand. This apparently seemed to work, as the flame was now hovering well above the candle itself.

“Good,” said Wyatt, trying not to show just how impressed and enthralled he was at the figure before him. “Now light the candle again, and repeat the process until you have eight flames, all in a circle in the air in front of you.”

_8:30 am, Basement Target Practice Room, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

_Four flames hovering in the air…five…six…seven…and finally, eight._ Matilda and Wyatt stared at the circle of tiny, unsupported flames now hovering in a circle in front of them, perpendicular to the ground. It made for a beautiful though somewhat eerie sight, as Wyatt was accustomed to seeing flames firmly affixed to tangible objects. In Matilda’s case, she had spent her earlier life stubborn and easily upset to the point she lost control of her fire power, causing her hands to spew flames of their own volition. This was the first time she successfully managed to harness her power over multiple ( _albeit miniature_ ) conflagrations without destroying an entire building and/or causing millions of dollars’ worth of damages and memory charms on the part of her dad. _If dad could see this now, he’d definitely be proud,_ Matilda thought to herself.

She felt her eyes begin to tear up. _How many times had she made a mess of things with her fire abilities? How many times had her dad had to clean up the mess she made?_ For once in her life, Matilda allowed herself to feel welcome, beckoned into polite purgatorial company; she felt like less of an outcast—a health hazard—a _danger to society—_ a _menace._ A _monster._ Perhaps maybe, just _maybe,_ Persephone was right; Matilda’s own sparkling amber-ruby fire emanating deep from within was the very thing that made her special, which she could channel in the ever-looming battle of good against evil if she so chose. She recalled her mother Macy mentioning years ago, how she herself had inadvertently set a lecherous fraternity creep on fire after a karaoke performance. _The inevitable trauma that ensued. Her meeting behind a sheet with her once-absent mother Marisol. The anguish, the agony, the tears, and the secrets._

_There were so many secrets. But not anymore._

Matilda wiped a stray tear from her cheek, as Wyatt turned to face her. “Great job Matilda!” he stopped. “Are you _crying?”_ He made as though to touch her, and she flinched—

“Don’t _fucking_ touch me,” she hissed, her concentration suddenly broken, causing the eight flames to fall to the ground.

 _Shit._ She helplessly watched as the flames roved around the flooring; Wyatt orbed to the opposite end of the room and orbed back, this time carrying and spraying a fire extinguisher.

_8:40 am, Basement Target Practice Room, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

“I-I’m sorry,” she whispered, as Wyatt succeeded in putting out the final bit of moving flame. Putting down the fire extinguisher, he stepped closer.

“Val, are you ok?” Matilda wiped another tear away and nodded, though she was still shaking from head to toe. “I should be the one who’s sorry, this exercise took a lot out of you—”

“I’m _fine,_ ” replied Matilda, silently cursing herself for losing her composure. “I’m so used to _not_ having control of my fire abilities—so used to keeping them under lock and key—that when I finally try to harness them… _I don’t know how to._ ”

“It’s understandable,” spoke Wyatt kindly, “I mean, this _is_ your first time trying to have a serious go at it besides burning a letter or two, amirite?” Matilda couldn’t help but smile at his reference to the time at Camp Wanaka when she burned a letter to smithereens.

“Yeah. But what if I hurt people by accident? My powers have surged over the past years, no thanks to global warming. What if I hurt…” she hesitated, “… _you?_ ”

“Then I’ll have to carry a fire extinguisher with me wherever I go, won’t I?” chuckled Wyatt, and Matilda couldn’t help but smile despite herself. “I think you underestimate my Whitelighting abilities. I’ll manage well enough. I’m a big boy, I can take care of myself, thanks.” He made as if to depart, and Matilda followed him, understanding they had concluded their first pyro session. _With many more to follow._

_2 pm, Matilda and Wyatt’s Office, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

After a late communal lunch with the rest of her colleagues, Matilda found herself in a somewhat decent-sized enclosed room with smoky glass floor-to-ceiling windows providing a breathtaking view of the expansive, cumulus cloud-filled sky. There were two fireproof glazed-oak desks, one for herself, and one for Wyatt, separated by a single divider that acted as a bulletin board. _Their office_. She had recovered from her earlier outburst but wondered just how much more of this she could realistically take. _Being in such close, daily proximity to her former summer flame. Watching him in his freshly pressed linen shirt that smelled of ocean breeze, and tailored suit jacket that never failed to impress, his beach-blond hair replaced with dark wavy ringlets and an ivory tower smile that reeked of seductive intelligentsia. She couldn’t help but wonder whether those abs beneath his shirt looked like the ones she remembered five years ago on the gently-swaying Bayliner drifting along Wanaka Marina._

 _I’m fucked,_ she thought to herself, not for the last time that day, as she peered over her desk at Wyatt, who might have been staring a second too long at the crimson curls surrounding a certain female’s visage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Kelly Clarkson's song "Dark Side": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H5ArpRWcGe0  
> Inspired by Pulk Dutch Furniture: https://shop.design-milk.com/collections/puik-design?goal=0_1033d478fd-54fb87b231-24609129&mc_cid=54fb87b231&mc_eid=620f3a61f5


	22. TSoT/HMV: A Torassieppi Sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommendation: Listen to Coldplay's "A Sky Full of Stars": https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=zp7NtW_hKJI

22 TSoT/HMV: A Torassieppi Sky

_“You light up the path…you're a sky full of stars/Such a heavenly view/You're such a heavenly view…”_

_-Coldplay, song “A Sky Full of Stars”_

_7 pm, One Weekend Later, Snow-Filled Landscape, Coordinates 67.9545° N, 23.9122° E_

“As I was saying earlier, I can’t figure out why Morgana would choose me— _me_ of all people—to be on a hiring committee for the next magical obstetrician. I’m _grossly_ underqualified. For one, I lack a uterus—” Harry declared, as he and Macy trodded through half a foot of snow in a snowy bank of indeterminate location. _It was Macy’s turn to plan date night, and he hoped she had written down the coordinates correctly. There wasn’t a person in sight._ “For another, I’m _utterly_ clueless about the female body—”

Trudging next to him in fur-lined, knee-high Arctic boots, Macy couldn’t help but smirk at his last statement. “No, Harry, you’re definitely _not_ clueless about the female body,” thinking of the backstage rendezvous they’d had at Hotel Christiania. And the time he went down on her in her laboratory she-shed after pipetting hundreds of bovine samples in the claustrophobic space. Not to mention he’d been incredibly attentive as he witnessed the birth of all three of their children. “I’m _serious._ You understand women—you’ve lived in a household of the most powerful witches of the past decades. And you stood watch while Morgana performed an enchanted C-section so our twins were safely delivered.”

She stepped over a stray tree branch and continued. “There’s no better person to interview obstetricians than you. Sure, Morgana’s great at the physician expertise, but the magical/personality aspects are _all_ up your alley, plus you’re Chair of Women’s Studies.”

“ _Former_ Chair—” began Harry, but Macy cut him off.

“Point _being,_ you’re qualified. And we must find someone to help vulnerable witches who are entrusting their lives and their future progeny to someone they’ve never met before. Remember how awesome of a job you did with me—can you imagine how scared they must feel?”

“It’s a big responsibility,” replied Harry, as they continued to pad through the pristine, unmarked path of glassy powder. “Not to digress, love—” he stopped abruptly. “But where in blazes _are_ we?”

_7:05 pm, Snow-Filled Landscape, Lake Torassieppi, 99300 Muonio, Finland_

Rather than answer, Macy clasped Harry’s hand and led him around the tree-lined bend to what appeared to be angular, glassy, transparent bubble-like accommodations. “Welcome to Aurora Domes. We’re in Finland—" she bit her lip and surveyed his expression.

“ _Finland?_ Oh _my,_ Dr. Valensi, _”_ mused Harry aloud, as he kissed Macy’s forehead, impressed at her ability to surprise him, even after all these years. “Where in Finland, pray tell?”

“Well— _Lake Torassieppi_ to be exact—to watch the Northern Lights up above.” She indicated a distant area of the night sky that glimmered a curious sea green color. “I think it’s about to start.” Macy and Harry grinned at each other as they approached their designated location; ever the planner, Macy had made reservations beforehand.

_7:30 pm, Aurora Dome, Lake Torassieppi, 99300 Muonio, Finland_

Spotting a pamphlet wedged beneath the doorway, Harry reached over and read it. Torassieppi, apparently, was a quaint town in Finnish Lapland, located near the Torassieppi Reindeer Farm and Winter Village. _How very charming,_ Harry thought to himself, as he looked over at Macy, who removed her jacket, and he did the same, neatly folding his atop the queen-sized bed; he noticed she wore a sultry burgundy-hued _Shein_ dress, with silken sleeves that extended to the elbow, fashionista-style. The belted pleats of her dress accentuated her shapely waist and her ever-entrancing bosom that he wished to squeeze tightly, _just one more time_ …

He turned over the pamphlet; their bubble-like accommodations bordered the lake as well as the surrounding Pallas Ylläs National Park—a snow-capped forest wilderness—and was built atop a homestead dating as far back as 1847. The Aurora Domes themselves were created in 2016 and were considered “the ultimate in Northern Lights glamping.” _How very Macy indeed._ Harry skimmed the rest of the brochure until he found an item describing the “Winter Village” located next to Pallas Ylläs National Park, which had ice sculptures and life-sized snow igloos perfect for exploring. _Day two, perhaps._

_7:45 pm, Aurora Dome, Lake Torassieppi, 99300 Muonio, Finland_

Harry and Macy surveyed the interior surroundings in the flickering amber glow of the wood-burning stove mere feet away. The spherical ceiling and three-quarters of the wall were completely enmeshed in a light-colored canvas-insulated tarp, with an overhead faux chandelier made entirely of reindeer antlers. Two sleek, curved _cadet-_ grey chairs covered in fluffy white fur blankets faced each other next to the geodesic window, between which was a small wood table where Macy was presently unloading the mulled wine and accompanying mugs she had brought with them. Harry noticed that the bed had flat white cotton sheets, plus a tasseled outer sham in a dark blue geometric pattern that reminded him of Native American blankets he had once seen in a general store in Arizona many moons ago.

_8 pm, Aurora Dome, Lake Torassieppi, 99300 Muonio, Finland_

They found themselves seated in the _cadet_ chairs, their ankles intertwined with the others’ as they toasted to having survived the past week of magical obstetrician hiring ( _having narrowed the prospective list from 100 to 30)_ , scientific analyses ( _Cyclops genetic sequencing, part 2)_ , nefarious hunts ( _culminating in Mel boiling a highly-aggressive ice monster)_ , and Matilda’s first week at her brand-new job ( _‘nough said)_. “ _Cheers,_ ” they said in unison, their eyes meeting the other’s, as they savored the piping-hot alcoholic beverage. Harry could taste the Cabernet Sauvignon’s crisp, dry boldness, plus a hint of blackberry, orange and lemon essences; the allspice, cloves, ginger, and cinnamon undertones blended the _accoutrements_ together in a seasonally festive symphony of flavor.

“Wow, love, you’ve _really_ outdone yourself,” he murmured, placing his mug back on the table between them. “And is that _my_ blackberry cordial I taste?”

Macy laughed and nodded. “I might’ve snuck in a few drops. Are you annoyed?”

Harry shook his head. “If anything, I’m _impressed_. You managed to plan an entire date night without my figuring out the location until arrival _and_ mix a holiday beverage fit for a king. There’s just one thing missing—”

Macy started in alarm. “Is it cookies? I brought biscuits—or is it the curtains? Is it too cold—” Harry laughed as he stood and reached for her hand, pulling her up so they stood together watching the Aurora Borealis commence, nature’s very own light show.

“Actually, I was referring to—well, can I see your phone for a moment?” Curious, Macy handed him her phone and he flipped to a page he bookmarked a couple of days before—a YouTube video of Coldplay’s “Sky Full of Stars,” which began playing as they gazed at the resplendent glow of ethereal light in full bloom, gracefully dancing across the celestial sky in shimmering arcs of emerald, peridot, diamond, and amethyst hues.

“ _I love you Harry_ ,” Macy whispered in Harry’s ear, squeezing his hand tightly as they witnessed the breathtakingly radiant display before them.

“ _I love you too_ ,” he responded, kissing the tawny curls atop her head in the way she loved best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Macy’s burgundy dress: https://m.shein.com/us/Button-Keyhole-Pleated-Belted-Dress-p-696946-cat-1727.html?url_from=adplaswdress01190315202L&gclid=CjwKCAjwj975BRBUEiwA4whRB8jhzIR1rDopry_arThrKyR3hdi3pEE6IvxM-v49tMBsUOydQsgkuBoCTAwQAvD_BwE&ref=us&rep=dir&ret=mus  
> Aurora Geodesic Dome:   
> https://www.theaurorazone.com/holidays/torassieppi-eco-glamping-and-aurora-horse-riding  
> Ginger with Spice Mulled Wine recipe:   
> https://www.gingerwithspice.com/scandinavian-mulled-wine-glogg/  
> Coldplay song, “A Sky Full of Stars”: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=zp7NtW_hKJI  
> Re: Harry & Bovine Samples, see "Of Ginger & Spice," Ch. 3 "Latinate Palatinate": https://archiveofourown.org/works/25068511/chapters/60720760


	23. TSoT/MMV: Of Amplifiers & Alcohol

23 TSoT/MMV: Of Amplifiers & Alcohol

_“No better you than the you that you are/No better life than the life we're living/No better time for your shine, you're a star/Oh, you're beautiful”_

_-Alessia Cara, song “Scars to Your Beautiful”_

_7:50 am, Three Weeks Later, Basement Target Practice Room, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

In the corner of her eye, Matilda noticed Wyatt place the _Rare_ crystal beaker-shaped decanter atop the Dutch _Shunan_ iron coffee table. “ _Focus,_ Val!” he called out, when he noticed her glance and she rolled her eyes once more, turning around to face her eight miniature flames rotating several feet off the ground, perpendicular to the cement floor of the basement pyro practice room. “I want you to take one of the eight flames and shoot it through the hoop of remaining flames, till it hits the opposite wall.”

Matilda inwardly sighed. The day seemed to last forever even when it had only begun, and the much-awaited holiday happy hour social was in ten hours; she’d brought a black dress to wear for the occasion, which she hoped included the much-heard-of pomegranate cordial that Persephone was famous for in the office. _The dress was just to look nice. Keeping up appearances,_ she told herself firmly. _Not to impress a certain dark-haired Camp Wanaka counselor standing in the same cavernous room as her at the present moment._

Though they had become coworkers with a decent-enough congenial relationship, having bonded over living with extended family ( _him with his grandparents and dad, her with her parents, and grandparents nearby_ ), there was still a lingering undercurrent of static…of _friction_ …that surfaced at most inconvenient times. The frustration of having to be told what to do by the same guy as five years hence, after having seen him completely in the nude, _his torso bucking as she rode him in ecstasy, as she grasped his tousled hair and enveloped his fuckable lips in a torrid kiss._ Each day, though she tried in vain to ignore it, she felt a certain… _frisson_ …in her limbs, her heart, in the very pit of her stomach, which gathered in a confused tangle of electricity in the base of her abdomen.

She concentrated on the upper-right flame, attempting to gently coax it from its cylindrical stead, but it stubbornly refused to budge from its position. _Apparently, like herself, it had a mind of its own. Ok fine,_ Matilda groused. _We’ll do this my way._ She sharply jerked her right palm backward to meet her hip. Come _on._ However, this caused the flame to bounce off the circle’s rim and straight into the direction of Wyatt. _Shit._ Instinctively, she aimed her open palm upward. _Stop—NOW._ She shut her eyes tightly, fearing for what she’d hear or see next. _Charred ashes? The sounds of tortured souls?_

“ _Val_ , you can open your eyes.” _Wyatt wasn’t burned to a crisp. Huh. “Look!”_ Matilda cautiously pried one eye open, then the other and gasped. She had succeeded in freezing the miniature flame in place, inches from Wyatt’s chest. “Guess we can add “immobilization” to your power roster?” Matilda nodded, hardly daring to breathe, as he reached for his strapped-on fire extinguisher and sprayed the amber heat away.

_8:20 am, Basement Target Practice Room, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

So far, Matilda had managed to hurl three flames through the fiery circle, all of which slammed into the opposite wall. _Five more left._ She plucked the fifth flame from its position with ease and tried to send it through the circle, but oddly enough, _it came back again_ , hovering a foot in front of her. Furrowing her brow, Matilda focused on its glassy, tongued edges. _Hit the wall, dammit_. The rogue flame went through the circle, then veered back again in Matilda’s direction, as she repeatedly bounced it back through. _In and out. In and out. Pounding literal, throbbing flame. Over and over._ She swallowed hard, trying not to envision Wyatt doing the same.

He stared at the vision before him, of the auburn-haired girl conjuring flames from within. _There was nothing sexier_ , he secretly imagined, than Val, learning to channel her fire and become one with herself. Noticing the spectacle of the rogue flame, he couldn’t help but feel a… _stirring_. _Down there_. The sexual metaphor was unmistakable, and he sought to control his breathing as he continued to observe Matilda from a distance. “ _Focus,_ Val!” Wyatt called out. “Get those dirty thoughts outta your head!”

The moment he uttered those words, he knew he’d said the wrong thing. Matilda flushed a deep crimson and with a swipe of her left hand, heaved the miniature flames forward, causing them to crash onto the wall and disappear. One flame remained in the palm of her hand as she slowly walked toward Wyatt. “ _Me? Dirty thoughts?”_ she muttered, her eyes glaring daggers at him.

“Um—I _-I only meant_ —” he stammered, staring at the golf ball-sized flame flickering in her hand. _Maybe I should add “pyro-telepathy” to the power roster too?_ he mused silently to himself.

“I’ve gone here, practiced here, for the past three weeks, _burning my brains out_ , no pun intended—only to be told to get dirty thoughts _out of my head?”_ hissed Matilda. “Pot calling the kettle black, no?” They were only inches apart now, close enough for her curly long hair to touch his shoulders, if she dared. He was worried about being scorched by this fierce _fae_ , but a secret part of him was somewhat _…turned on_. _In a previous life,_ he mused in that moment, _he would have cupped her visage upward to stare at her emerald eyes glittering in the flickering flare's glow. He would have seized bundles of those luscious crimson curls, breathed in her essence, and commenced a sordid game of tonsil hockey and heavy petting that would culminate, much later, in her screaming his name…_

_8:30 am, Basement Target Practice Room, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

All of a sudden, Wyatt’s phone buzzed, and the sensual moment was broken. The pair realized how close they were and discretely stepped back, avoiding each other’s eyes as he checked his texts and sent off a quick message. “Just Persephone checking in from the Underworld,” Wyatt spoke. “She wanted to know how things were going.”

“What did you tell her?” Matilda asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“I said you’re a quick study, and a real conflagration asset to the organization—”

“Thanks,” she replied. “But it’s nothing. I mean, all I learned was how to do weird shit with little flames—”

“ _Val._ It’s much, _much_ more than that.” He surveyed her closely. “In the past three weeks till today, you’ve done pyro-telekinesis, pyro-immobilization, and what I think is pyro-telepathy. _Don’t sell yourself short_.”

_7 pm, Rooftop Garden & Restaurant, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

Wyatt anxiously checked his phone for the time. _Where was Matilda?_ he wondered. An hour ago, she grabbed a bag from her desk in their shared office and ducked into a nearby restroom. She _still_ hadn’t come out yet. He surveyed his surroundings, noticing the elven boxwood topiaries and tall draped tables where other employees stood and milled about, conversing about the latest corporate news. Next to the topiaries and tables was a building with a bubble-like angular, geodesic glassy architectural design. _An enchanted ice sculpture pop-up restaurant. PC Corporation had, once again, outdone itself,_ he thought to himself as he grabbed a drink from a passing waiter’s tray and situated himself at one of the many standing tables, thinking not of the latest consulting development, but of a certain unobtainable crimson-haired girl.

_7:10 pm, Rooftop Garden & Restaurant, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

Just then, Wyatt felt a tap on his shoulder. He whirled around and gaped. _Matilda._ But this wasn’t studious Matilda. The feminine beauty standing before him wore a slimming, downright _scandalous_ _Venus_ designer evening black cocktail dress with a low-cut (or _no-cut_ ) area covered only with see-through lace, the rest in sheer contoured fabric, ending in a tight ruffled hem that went past her thigh.

Matilda, seeing Wyatt’s glazed-over expression, asked, “is something wrong?” Wyatt shook his head dumbly as she set her purse down on the grassy lawn.

“ _Wow,_ V—I mean— _Matilda._ Just— _wow.”_

Matilda hid a smile, then noticed the drink Wyatt held. “Is that Persephone’s pomegranate cordial? Can I try some?”

Wyatt nodded. “ _Yes to both,”_ as she reached for the glass and took a long sip. _A fizzy concentration of the dot-like berries, coupled with bursts of rosewater, strawberry, cucumber, and lime._

“This is _really_ good,” Matilda remarked, passing the glass back to Wyatt, who took a sip. “I can’t even taste the alcohol—”

“That’s because there isn’t any,” replied Wyatt, whirling the glass in between his thumb and forefinger, inhaling the fruity notes. _Wait, what?_ Matilda appeared perplexed. “Persephone believes alcohol is bad for business, so she laces her concoctions with amplifiers instead.”

“ _Amplifiers?”_ Matilda was intrigued. “To amplify… _emotions?”_

“Sort of. I’ve drunk it before, but nothing’s ever really happened to me yet. I heard it brings out the _good_ stuff, the stuff people are too scared to hope for, dream for, _imagine._ Persephone thinks of it as an infusion of wholesome ‘creative energy’ in the company.”

“ _Huh.”_ Matilda stared at the cordial glass and back up at Wyatt. “I could use some right now, after nine hours on the clock—” as she grabbed the glass from him and took another brave sip, feeling a wave of endorphins course through her veins instantaneously. _Damn. The beverage trickled down her throat with unsettling ease, as she stared at Wyatt’s bare chest through a couple of stray buttonholes. Imagining what it would be like to have his form shoved up against a wall—_

“Save some for me too,” laughed Wyatt. “I’ve spent the past hours making sure you didn’t burn the building down, don’t I deserve credit for that?”

“Ok, _here_ ,” she breathed, thrusting the concoction in Wyatt’s direction, as he closed his eyes and sipped. _May this moment never end,_ he silently wished, wondering how he was so lucky to have Matilda in his life once more.

_7:20 pm, Rooftop Garden & Restaurant, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

The crowd of employees gradually dispersed until it was just Matilda and Wyatt, plus a couple others they didn’t know, from the corporation’s more obscure branches. The cordial had suffused their mutual subconscious vitalities, permeating the air with the same intoxicating electrical vitality Matilda recognized from earlier in the day that continued to linger within the recesses of her soul.

Without realizing, they both reached for the other’s hand, and made contact for the barest of seconds, as they stared deeply into each other’s eyes, before Matilda came to her senses and snapped her hand back, fleeing the rooftop garden for the elevator that would take her down to the 88th floor office they shared.

_7:35 pm, Matilda & Wyatt’s Office, 88th Floor, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

Matilda locked their shared office door behind her and minutes later, touched her forehead against the smoky glass of the floor-to-ceiling window, trying to will herself to come to her senses. _He’s your mentor! It’s a terrible idea—he doesn’t love you—you’re a monster and a menace—_

She heard a _pop_ behind her and whirled around to find Wyatt holding her purse. “You forgot it upstairs,” he whispered. “ _I’m sorry I overstepped_ —” but Matilda strode toward him and placed a dainty finger on his lips to silence him, which she found herself inserting into his mouth despite her better judgment, then removing it, as their lips suddenly met in a frenzied torrent, their hands grappling at the other’s clothing, _impediments all_ , their mutual scorching desire making itself known as she ripped off her lacey underwear. Her back slammed against the door as she found herself straddling her _ex-lover,_ her _mentor_ , her _friend,_ her… _whoever the hell he was_.

“ _What do you want, Valensi?”_ he breathed into the most sensitive part of her neck.

“ _You.”_ Wyatt proceeded to drown Matilda in kisses from her neck, down the see-through lace of her chest, fondling one breast then the other, as she writhed in his grasp.

“ _Are you sure_?” Wyatt breathed, and Matilda nodded, fully aware of his hardness pressing against her inner thigh, gesturing to the purse. _Condom’s in there,_ she indicated as he plucked the square-shaped piece of foil from a zippered pocket. Some seconds later, Matilda undid his pants and freed his stiffened self, rubbing his glistening head with the soft pad of her finger, drawing it to her lips to taste. _Salty. And sweet._ She watched as he slid the latex sheath over himself, at full mast.

Making heavy-lidded eye contact once more, Wyatt positioned himself at Matilda’s entrance, between her petaled folds; together, they gasped at the sensation of his entry into her heated warmth within. _“Fuck, Val,”_ he groaned, as he began to slowly thrust within her, then faster, as Matilda continued to take every ounce of him inward to the hilt, hitting the most pleasurable areas of her inner walls.

“ _Oh God,”_ she gasped, as the force of his thrusts caused her ponytail tie to come apart, inveigling them both in a flurry of crimson curls. “ _Oh—I—I think I—I’m gonna—”_ her breath shuddered involuntarily as she felt a fast-approaching throb of explosive energy, culminating with a heady groan from Wyatt as he spilled himself onto the cloaked part of his shaft that was buried deep within the woman he loved, who was beautiful— _just the way she was_.

_9 am, Next Day/Saturday, Morgana’s Front Doorstep, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico Neighborhood_

“Who’s the guy?” Morgana peered over her bifocals at her auburn-haired adoptive granddaughter.

“What guy?” replied Matilda, having just arrived from across the street wearing black-and-pink jersey shorts and a matching dark tank top. “Anyways, what do you need me to garden?” She attempted to change the subject, though she noticed that Morgana’s front lawn appeared freshly harvested for the cooler winter season, zucchini, peppers, okra, and all.

“ _Nice try,”_ Morgana snapped back. “It’s no use playing coy with me, dear, your skin is fresh as a peach and I’ve yet to see a grimace on those lips.”

Matilda blushed faintly. “ _Gran,_ he’s just a friend.” _Friends-with-benefits maybe,_ she told herself silently, recalling how they’d adjusted their clothing in the darkened room and went their separate ways after the party. _Blame it on the (non)alcohol,_ she told herself. _No guy in their right mind wants a pyro witch. This was all a one-time fluke, a—_

“Oh _really_?” Morgana responded skeptically as she angled her head to get a better look at Matilda’s radiant visage. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“It’s complicated, Gran…” Matilda began, but Morgana cut her off.

“ _No,_ my dear, what’s complicated is Jimmy getting engaged and married to Darcy hours before her wartime death, their subsequent rebirth as your parents Harry and Macy, and Darcy’s secret child becoming your adoptive grandpa. Who I divorced and re-dated decades later. Melanija Paradis delved into that in great detail awhile ago. But _this—”_ Morgana gestured at her granddaughter, “is anything but _.”_

_9:15 am, Morgana’s Front Doorstep, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico Neighborhood_

“…Anyways, I digress,” Morgana finished, seeing the look on Matilda’s face. “We’re going to my weekly spin class down the street.”

“Gran, you’re in a _spin class?_ ”

“Why not?” Morgana replied airily. “I arrive exactly five minutes late to snag the seats closest to the door in the dark, so if I emit accidental shards of magic they go unnoticed. Then two minutes before the lights turn back on, I silently depart. Why else would I have told you to wear gym clothes?”

 _Right,_ Matilda mused to herself. Then a thought occurred to her. “Isn’t it dangerous for me to be in an enclosed room with other mortals, given my pyro stuff?”

“From what I’ve seen of the past several years, you’ve learned to control it with an iron fist. And really, there’s only one way to truly find out, right?” Morgana grinned and extended an arm toward Matilda, who clasped it as they walked toward the building the class was held. _Like two peas in a pod._

_10:45 am, Morgana’s Back Garden, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico Neighborhood_

Morgana handed her granddaughter a tall glass of guava iced tea. “Thanks, Gran,” Matilda gratefully accepted the bright pink beverage and sipped, gazing at the garden of orange trees, lemon trees, Jerusalem artichokes, and more, as they sat alongside the wooden picnic table set up before them.

The spinning class had been exactly as Morgana predicted. Creeping in a few minutes late, they had sat at the furthest end of the room, pitch-black save for a series of laser-like lightbeams from the sides of the room. She recalled hearing Gin Wigmore’s rhythmic, fast-tempo song “Man Like That” blaring from the loudspeakers:

“ _Girl, you better wake up/Girl, you better run…/tells you that he loves you/then he take it all back…/Girl, you gotta wonder ‘bout a man like that_ …”

Matilda took another sip of her guava iced tea as did Morgana. “ _Dear_ ,” Morgana said, leaning forward to clasp the girl’s hand, “tell me _everything_.”

_Noon, Morgana’s Back Garden, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico Neighborhood_

“…And that was _after_ I spent the past three weeks training under him. I blame the pomegranate cordial, Persephone’s rumored to put “amplifiers” in it to make people’s secret desires and creativities come true—” said Matilda, recapping the most mortifying past seventy-two hours of her life, though she detected a merry twinkle in Morgana’s eyes. “ _What’s so funny?”_

Morgana shook her head. “People talk about amplifiers, but in my medical experience, barely anything’s added—hence, a most peculiar placebo effect—”

Matilda’s mouth dropped open. “You mean— _you mean_ —there was _nothing_ in the cordial _at all_?”

“Well,” Morgana ruminated aloud. “That would be inaccurate. There was certainly an _amplifier_ involved, but…that _chemistry_? That was all _you two_. Likely gargantuan enough that a tiny amplifier blew it up to the nines, if I’m not mistaken.”

Matilda sucked in her breath. _She had spent the past five years thinking of Wyatt, now finally reunited in the same office space with cataclysmic amounts of unresolved tension coming to a head. “_ So, what do I do now?” she asked, trying not to display the anxiety she felt within.

“I’d recommend you both _not_ hide from your feelings—and get everything out in the open, lest you two cause a literal explosion strong enough to topple the entire building over,” replied Morgana matter-of-factly. Then her expression softened. “If you’re worried about your pyro powers scaring this young man away, I’d like to take a moment to remind you that your differences are your strength, and that you, my darling, are beautiful— _exactly as you are_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alessia Cara, song "Scars to Your Beautiful": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MWASeaYuHZo  
> Matilda's Black Dress: https://www.venus.com/productlanding.aspx?BRANCH=7~72~&ProductDisplayID=63771&clr=ANBK&sc=FS75&cm_mmc=PLA-_-Google-_-Y98507-L-ANBK-_-BKT_G-UN&gclid=Cj0KCQjwsuP5BRCoARIsAPtX_wEvojgEYpIkpI0JzZL9-SNMz3xEitGXa_UusojwBfKE_7Za406p3JYaAt2-EALw_wcB


	24. TSoT/HMV: The Invisible Lady

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommendation: listen to French Télépopmusik song “Just Breathe”: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=vyut3GyQtn0

24 TSoT/HMV: The Invisible Lady

_“You haunt my dreams/There's nothing to do but believe/Just believe…/Just breathe/Lying in my bed/Another day, staring at the ceiling…”_

_-Télépopmusik, song “Breathe”_

_6:45 am, Saturday, One Weekend Later, Bedroom, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23_

_The spiral of flames reared its way upward in a heightened vortex, as a man plus four beings—male or were they female? jumped out and faced her in what she knew to be Vera Manor’s living room. Their faces obscured, they attempted to hurl flame-shaped swords in her direction as she screamed and ducked, trying in vain to use her telekinesis to deflect the onslaught of flickering arsenal. Why weren’t her powers working? Perhaps telekinesis was possible for molecularly solid objects, but not for mutable substances, she surmised to herself as she quickly ducked behind the plush velveteen couch, which became reduced to smithereens with the next beam of coursing light. The man turned around, his face a shellacked lapis lazuli blue and she gasped aloud. Parker. “We meet again, Charmed One,” he snarled, his mouth widening to form a nefarious grin that sent shivers throughout her body—_

Macy sprang up in bed, flushed and sweating profusely. Breathing hard, she tried to calm herself, visualizing happy thoughts—her children, the safe haven of Vera Manor, her sisters. _It was only a dream. And yet, it felt so real._ She looked over at the empty space next to her. _Where was Harry?_

“Love—” Macy gave a sudden start, “if we don’t hurry up, we’ll be late—” Harry stopped and peered into her eyes. “ _You’ve seen something._ What is it?”

Macy shook her head. “It’s probably just menopause—I looked up the symptoms earlier—sweating and hot flashes—the dream I had…it was probably nothing…” she trailed off uncertainly.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Remember what I said eons ago about learning to trust your own voice?” Macy knew what he was implying.

“Ok, so, I had this dream there were four fiery people-beings that came through a fire hurricane and descended on Vera Manor, led by Parker. Except,” Macy thought for a moment. “It _wasn’t_ him. He transformed, or…reinvented himself, or… _something_.”

Harry’s expression darkened. “Macy, we need to tell your sisters—”

“It’s probably just menopause! Or…or the vegan cookie dough ice cream I had last night, or…” Macy looked up at her husband. “ _Maybe evil Parker’s paying a visit_ ,” she whispered.

“And the flames—who do we know has an unremitting affinity for fire?” asked Harry.

“ _Matilda.”_

_7 am, Morgana’s Kitchen, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico Neighborhood_

“Love,” asked Harry again once Morgana was out of earshot, “are you _absolutely_ sure you’re ok?”

“I’m _fine!_ ” snapped Macy, sipping her cup of coffee, provided by Morgana before the start of the Zoom interview sessions. Together, the three had narrowed down the magical obstetrical candidates to three people.

“Here’s a snapshot of the folks,” Morgana returned to the kitchen with a set of notebooks, pens, and interview material, as she read off the first sheet, copies of which she distributed simultaneously. “The first candidate is Medusa—”

“Wait, _the_ Medusa?” Macy was jolted out of her sleep-deprived haze. “As in, see her and you turn into stone?”

Morgana nodded. “Well, a _grand-niece_ or something, so I’ve heard.”

“How would the birthing process work if you can’t see your own doctor?” Harry posited quizzically. “Isn’t one of the key tenets doctor-patient interactions?”

“True,” the elderly witch remarked, continuing to thumb through a set of documents before pulling out the corresponding copies of the woman’s resume. “But, as I informed her earlier, the medical community and the magical community at large strives for diversity and has made itself amenable to reasonable accommodations.”

“I don’t think this is what’s meant by ‘ _diversity_ ,’” muttered Macy as she read through Medusa’s credentials. “She could accidentally kill someone with one look. And what would ‘reasonable accommodations’ involve?”

“Oh, looking at her surgical handiwork through a series of mirrors,” replied Morgana. “She’s famous in her own community for delivering a set of quintuplets all by herself.”

_7:10 am, Medusa’s Zoom Interview, Morgana’s Kitchen, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico Neighborhood_

“Hello Medusa, can you hear us?” Harry, Macy, and Morgana dialed onto the Zoom call, disabling the video function.

“Yup!” a voice on the other end chirped.

“So, um, _Medusa,_ ” Macy began. “Tell us more about yourself.”

_7:20 am, Medusa’s Zoom Interview, Morgana’s Kitchen, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico Neighborhood_

_So far, so good_ , thought Harry to himself as he listened to Medusa’s account of how she had decided on her professional calling. “It’s been wonderful discussing the position; if you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to call—” pressing what he thought was the “hang up” button.

“NO!” cried Morgana and Macy, slamming the laptop shut.

“W-what?” Harry surveyed their horrified expressions.

“You clicked the video icon by accident.”

Harry winced _._ “Ladies, my _sincerest_ apologies.”

_8 am, Heracles’ Zoom Interview, Morgana’s Kitchen, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico Neighborhood_

After nearly being turned to stone, Harry felt it appropriate they indulge in what he termed “benevolent day-drinking” of his newest concoction, a sweet banana rum punch he assembled and mixed on the nearby kitchen counter, incorporating banana rum, orange juice, pineapple juice, ginger ale, cherry syrup, garnished with slices of lemon.

Drinks in hand, they examined the next dossier. Heracles, paragon of masculinity. _Here goes nothing,_ Harry thought, as he clicked the button to commence the next interview.

“Hello, dear sir!” a booming voice could be heard on the other end. Morgana and Macy exchanged glances, _what are we, chopped liver?_

“Why do you feel you’re most qualified for this magical obstetrical position?” Macy asked, as Heracles took a moment to formulate his thoughts.

“ _Well,_ ” he said, solely addressing Harry, much to the women’s consternation, “I witnessed the birth of all fifty of my children, born safely into the realm. That ought to count for something.” Harry thought he heard a cluster of voices in the background, coupled with the sound of shattering dinner plates.

“Heracles,” Harry finally said, realizing he was unable to hear the interviewee over the racket, “can you do something about the noise?”

“One minute,” responded Heracles, who, without bothering to mute, bellowed “SHUT THE _FUCK_ UP!” resulting in dead silence. He turned around to face the stunned trio. “That better?”

“Uh,” Macy said, too shocked to fully respond. _So much for compassionate bedside manner,_ she thought to herself, rolling her eyes. Morgana apparently was of the same mind, as she shuffled around her remaining papers and briskly thanked Heracles for his time before ending the call.

_9 am, Nedra’s Zoom Interview, Morgana’s Kitchen, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico Neighborhood_

Macy could feel the numbing effects of banana rum course through her system as she and Morgana glanced at the final candidate’s portfolio. Oddly enough, there was a single chair in the place of where a LinkedIn picture should have been. _Was that in error?_ she couldn’t help but wonder.

“That’s the correct photo,” Morgana mentioned. “She’s invisible,” she clarified, as she clicked on the button to initiate the Zoom call, camera-enabled this time. _Wait, what_? Macy and Harry stared at each other, then at the Zoom screen, where they saw an impeccably-dressed figure donned head-to-toe in a sublime Jackie Kennedy-style outfit.

“Hi,” the voice emanated softly. “I’m Nedra.”

_9:45 am, Nedra’s Zoom Interview, Morgana’s Kitchen, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico Neighborhood_

So far, Nedra’s accomplishments had impressed the trio; she had overseen the births of five hundred magical beings in the past year, all born safely no matter the situation. When asked about why she wished to leave her current position, she diplomatically stated “career growth and a chance to spread my wings.” On Macy’s inquiry, Nedra for all her accolades, professed she was tired of being sidelined due to her soft-spoken personality. The interview was almost at a close, but Harry had one last question to ask.

“Nedra,” he began. “Can you tell us anything about yourself that’s _not_ on your resume?”

Nedra paused for several seconds to collect her thoughts. “I guess…” her turquoise woolen pillbox hat angled downward as the trio imagined her staring into her lap. She then straightened her posture. “I invented a fire-proof full-body uniform to assist with pyro-related births. No fatalities yet,” she remarked as Macy and Harry suddenly stared at each other. “D-did I say something wrong?” she asked hesitantly.

“N-no, that was an _awesome_ response,” breathed Macy, as Morgana and Harry nodded in the affirmative. “Can you give us a couple minutes?” They watched as the woolen hat bobbed up and down in assent.

_9:55 am, Nedra’s Zoom Interview, Morgana’s Kitchen, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico Neighborhood_

The trio muted the Zoom call, with Nedra patiently waiting on the opposite line. “I like Nedra,” stated Macy to Morgana, who continued scribbling on her own notepad as they spoke.

“What about Heracles?” Harry spoke as the others made a face of utter disgust. “I’m _kidding!”_ he said, as he continued sipping his lemon-garnished beverage.

“Medusa?” Morgana asked. “NO! I mean,” Macy recovered herself, “ _no._ Risking being turned to stone is a major liability.”

“Roger that,” said Harry. “Plus, Nedra makes fire-proof uniforms—”

“Or so she _claims_ ,” Macy interjected. “We need evidence.”

_10 am, Nedra’s Zoom Interview, Morgana’s Kitchen, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico Neighborhood_

Nedra waiting expectantly, the trio unmuted the call. “So, _Nedra,_ ” Macy began. “Can you demonstrate the use of your fire-proof full-body uniform over this call? Right now?” fulling expecting the woman to say _no, I need more time._ To the trio’s surprise, Nedra’s woolen hat bobbed up and down as they noticed her laptop changing scenery until it, and Nedra, were in what appeared to be her basement.

“Can I turn off the camera for privacy?” Nedra asked, “I gotta change into the uniform first,” and they nodded.

_10:10 am, Nedra’s Zoom Interview, Morgana’s Kitchen, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico Neighborhood_

The screen image resurfaced as Nedra now wore a lavender-colored full-body suit that reminded Harry vaguely of the quirky “Blue Man Group,” except… _purple. And female._ Suddenly, a torrent of flame shot toward Nedra’s torso and head, startling the trio and causing Morgana to splash her drink onto the kitchen table.

“ _Nedra!_ ” Macy shrieked, not knowing whether her interviewee was alive. “ _ARE YOU OK_?” They watched as the flame dissipated nearly as fast as it started.

“Eh, I’m still here,” laughed Nedra, her suited self cheerfully waving at the dumbfounded trio through the interview call.

Morgana, Macy, and Harry stared at each other and back at Nedra. “ _You’re hired.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Banana Rum Punch:   
> https://www.anightowlblog.com/banana-rum-punch/  
> Télépopmusik, song “Just Breathe”:   
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=vyut3GyQtn0  
> Inspiration for Nedra:   
> https://www.google.com/amp/s/amp.cnn.com/cnn/2020/08/11/cnn10/empty-chair-photo-id-trnd/index.html


	25. TSoT/MMV: Of Decanter & Portender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommendation: Listen to Alicia Keys’ song “Girl on Fire”: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=bCfSRJENSnc

25 TSoT/MMV: Of Decanter & Portender

_“She's just a girl, and she's on fire…/She's living in a world, and it's on fire/Feeling the catastrophe, but she knows she can fly away”_

_-Alicia Keys, Nicki Minaj, song “Girl on Fire” (Inferno version)_

_7 am, Two Days Later, Gateway Subway Station, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

Landing in a darkened corridor of the Gateway Subway Station, Matilda dusted herself off and proceeded to the exit, just as a hooded figure stepped forward from the lingering shadows. “I require your service,” the male voice began. _Ugh, why do I always end up with the creepers?_ Matilda grumbled to herself as she raced upstairs into the open air.

The voice continued to keep pace, despite her attempts to shake the hooded figure off, as she hurriedly walked toward PC Corporation amongst the surrounding urbane cityscape that ran alongside the wide Monongahela River. “Matilda Valensi, daughter of Charmed One, Macy, _is it not_?”

Matilda froze and whirled around. “Who the _hell_ are you?” The figure removed his ascetic hood, displaying a leering, shellacked lapis lazuli blue face. She gaped.

“Someone who has been waiting for your ascension. _People call me the Portender_.” He walked alongside her past Gateway Park as she tried subtle methods of shrugging him off near the art sculptures, including a failed attempt at pyro-telepathy. She recognized the name. _Portender._ Especially after her parents’ “stranger-danger” discussion the other day about a guy her mom dreamt about that wanted to do something with fire, and her. _Or it could’ve been her mom’s menopausal symptoms. Or that vegan ice cream—what was the name of the brand again?_

Matilda’s thoughts were interrupted as Parker disappeared from her side and directly intercepted her path. “Join me, Matilda, and become the essence of fire itself. Join me and be _powerful_. You won’t be a monster. With me, you can be _better._ ”

“Nice try, _Parker_. I’m not interested.” Matilda pushed past him and crossed the street as he trailed behind, eventually catching up.

“I see your parents told you about me? _No matter_. I’ll win you over yet.” With that, he vanished into thin air as Matilda shivered. _This wasn’t good._

She made a left onto Boulevard of the Allies, a sharp left onto Stanwix Street, a right onto Fourth Avenue, and found herself facing the front entrance of Purgatory Corporation.

_7:50 am, Basement Target Practice Room, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

In the corner of her eye, Matilda noticed Wyatt standing near the _Rare_ decanter, which sat atop the Dutch _Shunan_ iron coffee table. “ _Focus,_ Val!” he called out, when he noticed her glance and she rolled her eyes once more, turning around to face her eight miniature flames rotating several feet off the ground, perpendicular to the cement floor of the practice room. _Everything was fine. Perfectly fine,_ Matilda told herself, momentarily shelving the memory of them getting it on just three days ago. _The proverbial elephant in the room._

She continued the previous week’s exercise of shooting each flame through to the opposite wall. _Who knew pyro-telekinesis could feel so good?_ Matilda mused to herself as she watched the last flame shoot toward the wall, which bounced off the ceiling. _No biggie,_ she thought to herself as she froze the golf ball-sized flame in place, brought it back with the wave of her hand, then aimed it, this time reaching its intended wall with one sharp thrust.

The sound of clapping caused her to turn around. _Wyatt._ “Excellent work, Val!” he exclaimed. His eyes then softened. “You’ve _really_ come a long way.”

_8 am, Basement Target Practice Room, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

After a ten-minute break to refill her water bottle and recoup her strength, Matilda found herself facing the Dutch _Shunan_ iron table and the _Rare-_ brand crystal decanter atop it. “Val, I need you to loosen your earring another two millimeters—” began Wyatt.

“Are you _nuts?_ ” Matilda couldn’t help but retort. “I could burn the place down!” Wyatt shook his head.

“I think, with your level of mastery, you’ve leveled up. _You’ve got this_ ,” he responded, moving to the opposite wall, far from the decanter and table. Matilda hesitantly complied, her fingers shaking all the while. “Ok,” Wyatt paused. “Now, I want you to shoot a flame to land on the decanter. Think of this as… _target practice._ ” Matilda resisted the urge to stare back at Wyatt in disbelief, as her powers were too raw and volatile; she could easily annihilate anything within an eleven-foot distance if she wasn’t careful.

_8:15 am, Basement Target Practice Room, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

Matilda was glad Wyatt had the foresight to be well outside the line of fire. Her attempts to land flames atop the decanter were abysmal, not for lack of trying. In her most recent attempt, she found herself freezing roving flames in place as Wyatt aimed an extended pipeline from his fire extinguisher to douse them. “Keep trying!” he yelled over the noise of the extinguisher. “I know you’ll be able to do it in no time!”

“ _I hope so_ ,” she muttered, doubt creeping into her voice as she rubbed the palms of her hands together to create a new set of miniature flames.

_9 am, Matilda & Wyatt’s Office, 88th Floor, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

The pyro practice finally ended when Matilda was able to throw a flame that hit the decanter’s upper lip, even though the plume dissipated a second later. After cleaning up the remaining scorch marks, she grasped Wyatt’s proffered arm as they orbed up to their shared office. _Awkward wasn’t even the right word for it_ , Matilda realized as she touched the exact spot where, just three days before, they had had an illicit rendezvous involving her form shoved up against the door.

“Can we talk?” Wyatt finally asked, puncturing the uneasy silence.

“What’s there to talk about? I’m not the same troubled girl I was back then. We’re older—” began Matilda, her hand still poised on the doorframe.

“ _I know_ ,” Wyatt responded as he walked over to the smoky floor-to-ceiling glass windows; leaning his elbow on the glass above his head, he peered down stories below toward Liberty Bridge, Monongahela River, and the populace, all of whom were the size of period punctuation marks from where they stood, eighty-eight stories above the ground.

“Why didn’t you reach out, after camp?” Matilda suddenly asked, her voice trembling from across the room.

“You know I wanted to,” replied Wyatt softly, turning to face her. “But I never thought we’d see each other again—and I didn’t want to give you false hope—”

“So you dropped out of my life for _five years_?” countered Matilda, her eyes firmly fixed on Wyatt’s own.

“At the time, my dad was in hiding from the monster he’d been chasing—I didn’t want you ending up as collateral damage," he confessed. “I’m sorry. But I _had_ to protect you—”

“I can protect myself, _thanks_ ,” retorted Matilda, though not as harshly as Wyatt expected.

_9:09 am, Matilda & Wyatt’s Office, 88th Floor, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

“Why didn’t you?” Wyatt spoke again.

“Why didn’t I…?” asked Matilda, puzzled.

“Why didn’t _you_ contact _me_?” Wyatt asked.

Matilda raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t want to seem desperate,” she replied.

 _Right,_ thought Wyatt to himself, hiding the barest hint of a smile. “What’s so funny?” Matilda asked, examining his visage from where she stood.

“I’m just thinking…of how _absolutely_ stubborn you are,” remarked Wyatt. Matilda walked over to the window, standing a couple of feet away from him as she too stared out into the distance. “Speaking of which,” Wyatt spoke. “Where _are_ we?”

“Pittsburgh,” Matilda bit her lip coyly, fighting the urge to grin.

Wyatt sighed. “You _know_ what I mean, Val. Are we… _friends? Lovers? Coworkers?”_ Wyatt hesitated. _“Fuck buddies?_ ”

“Yes _,”_ replied Matilda after a beat.

“Yes to…?”

“ _Everything_.”

_Noon, Market St. Grocery, 435 Market St., Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

Matilda glanced at her phone again, rolling her eyes. The text read:

_Sweetie, can you pick up “Hair of the Dog” ingredients from the grocery store? Your dad needs to mix it after yesterday’s job interview. X((( -Mom_

Leave it to her own parents to go “benevolent day-drinking” during an obstetrical panel interview. _Literally, how was that even possible?_ Not to mention, her mom always seemed the straitlaced sort.

“Everything ok, Val?” Wyatt’s voice echoed concern. She had agreed to let him tag along on her lunch break and hoped she wouldn’t regret it. _While sorting out “exactly where they stood” and all that._

“Yeah,” responded Matilda, as she began scouring the market shelves for Bulldog Gin, lemon juice, hot sauce, and fresh chili pepper.

“Your family sure is interesting,” he remarked, as Matilda plucked the wares from the shelves.

“ _Don’t get me started,”_ she muttered as they entered the queue for the self-checkout line.

_12:15 pm, Market St. Grocery, 435 Market St., Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

Just then, Matilda spotted a familiar shellacked blue visage among the sea of Pittsburgh commuters out on their lunch break. _Shit—had Parker, Portender—whatever he was—had he been canvassing the area?_

Wyatt gently nudged her; realizing she was next, she retrieved her wallet and hurriedly paid as Wyatt grabbed the items and followed her not to the front entrance, but toward the back.

_12:20 pm, Behind Market St. Grocery, 435 Market St., Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

“Matilda—what’s going on?” Wyatt followed Matilda’s fast-disappearing form as she wove through the crowd and went out the back exit, as he trailed in her wake.

“Wyatt, you need to orb us straight to our office, _now_ ,” hissed Matilda. “ _Hurry,”_ as they ducked into the alley’s shadows, narrowly avoiding being seen by the passing lapis lazuli-hued face.

_12:30 pm, Matilda & Wyatt’s Office, 88th Floor, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

“Matilda?” Wyatt laid the grocery bag of items carefully on his coworker’s desk and stared at her. “Is there anything I need to know?”

She deliberated on what to tell him, and if so, how much. If Parker decided to get aggressive, she could use Wyatt’s protection going to and from Gateway Station, but what if Parker used his Portender powers to injure (or worse yet, _kill_ ) Wyatt? She knew that Wyatt’s family couldn’t stand another loss of a loved one, especially as he was the only child. Matilda also understood that Parker didn’t hurt women unless extremely provoked.

_That settled it then—the less he knew, the better._

Matilda seized her purse and grocery bag, fleeing the shared office, Wyatt calling after her to come back. All things considered, she was glad she traveled light that day. _It would make the rest of her time at Purgatory Corporation far less awkward._

_12:45 pm, 88th Floor, Head Supervisor’s Office, Conflagration Department, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

Matilda twisted the crystal doorknob and entered the airy, expansive office. A transfer was in order, to keep Wyatt safe ( _and if she were being perfectly honest, to temper her feelings_ ).

“Matilda,” the executive office chair swung forth on its hinges, revealing Nelson in all his aged being. “What brings you here today?”

“I…” she swallowed hard and continued. “I need to transfer departments. _Now_.”

_1 pm, 88th Floor, Head Supervisor’s Office, Conflagration Department, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

Nelson raised his eyebrows. “I thought your pyro training sessions were going well? Or did I assume wrong?”

 _Here goes nothing,_ thought Matilda to herself. “Um, doing fire exercises with Wyatt violates my fundamental beliefs…”

“And just _what_ beliefs might those be?” Nelson leaned forward intrigued, his elbows now propped up on the desk in front of him.

“Fire welfare rights, _y’know_ , animal rights, except with fire. Golf ball-sized flames aren’t as cute and cuddly as puppies or kittens, but they’re, uh, worth rescuing too.” Matilda was BS-ing her way through her speech, and she knew Nelson could see through her shoddy act.

 _Are you seriously shitting me?_ _Fire welfare rights?_ Nelson’s expression indicated as he reluctantly approved the transfer. “I must warn you, Matilda, this transfer is approved, but can be cancelled anytime Persephone shows up. Likely in four months—or could be as early as three weeks from today.” He paused and examined Matilda’s withdrawn visage. “Hopefully that’ll be enough time to sort through whatever danger you’re in. _Right_?”

Matilda nodded. “Thanks again, sir. I’m much obliged.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Alicia Keys’ song “Girl on Fire”: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=bCfSRJENSnc  
> Hair of the Dog recipe: https://www.thespruceeats.com/hair-of-the-dog-hangover-cocktail-760088


	26. TSoT/MMW: Coquito Plays Cupid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommendation: Listen to Death Cab for Cutie's "Home is a Fire": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2G-tgrHb4ug

26 TSoT/MMW: Coquito Plays Cupid

_“Plates they will shift/Houses will shake/Fences will drift/We will awake/Only to find/Nothing's the same”_

_–Death Cab for Cutie, song “Home is a Fire”_

_11 am, One Month Later, Weekend, January 2046, Vera Manor Foyer, Seattle, Washington_

_Putting up Christmas lights was festive, fast, and fun but removing them reeked of sadness and took forever,_ Maggie grumbled to herself as she walked around, grabbing handfuls of star-shaped tealights from odd walls and snatching up fast-disintegrating candy canes from Mason jars whose outsides were covered in sugar-spun mini Santa figures. The time-dependent glamour powder that she used last month would run out at the stroke of midnight, and there wasn’t any time to lose.

Meanwhile, Matilda and Macy removed the ornaments from the living room Christmas tree as Jordan disentangled the stringed lights from the second Christmas tree, located inches from the crystal chandelier in the front entryway (or _foyer_ , according to Matilda’s dad Harry, ever-the-schoolmarm). _Why_ did _we get a second tree?_ Jordan thought to himself. _Wasn’t one plenty?_ Of course, he had fallen for Maggie’s innocent doe-eyed expression of how they had two Christmas trees every year, one extra to make up for all the holidays Macy had missed with her and Mel over their childhood. _It was impossible to argue with sentiments like that,_ he smiled to himself as he wound his arm over and through the evergreen boughs, unaware that his and Maggie’s pet cat Coquito was quietly ascending the branches on the opposite end, its silver eyes staring up toward the chandelier.

_11:08 am, Vera Manor Foyer, Seattle, Washington_

_Suddenly, the entire first floor of Vera Manor shook then went dark._

“Is everyone safe and accounted for?” shouted Harry once the dust settled. He heard all voices answer in the affirmative, much to his relief.

The culprit was none other than the cat. _Coquito._ Who had in a moment’s inattention, sneaked up to the top of the foyer tree and bit an electrical cord adjoining the chandelier. Macy used telekinesis to gently lift the cream-colored feline and place him softly on solid ground, despite his meowling protestations. “Oh _Coquito,_ ” groaned Maggie. “What have you done?”

_11:20 am, Vera Manor Foyer, Seattle, Washington_

“We need an electrician—” began Jordan. “I can search online—”

“There’s no time!” Maggie all but wailed. “The glamour’s wearing off already, and Harry’s gonna have to perform hundreds of memory charms if we want the power to come back on—”

“What if we called a magical electrician?” Matilda spoke as everyone turned to her in surprise. “ _What?”_ she asked.

“But we don’t know anyone, Tilly,” said a very much concerned Harry.

“ _I do,”_ Matilda responded. _And I_ really _don’t want to ask him for help._

_11:25 am, Vera Manor Kitchen, Seattle, Washington_

Matilda ducked out of the living room for the cozy ambiance of the kitchen, where she pulled her phone out and dialed the very person she hoped she would never see again for his own safety. _Wyatt._

She heard a single dial tone then an all-too-familiar voice. “ _Val?”_ he murmured incredulously. “Is that _really_ you?”

“Um.” Matilda swallowed hard. “Yeah,” she whispered.

“Where’ve you been? I heard you were transferred, I didn’t know—why didn’t you say—”

“Wyatt—I’m sorry…” she interrupted. “I need your help…or your granddad’s help. _It’s urgent._ ”

He paused for a beat. “Isn’t your dad a Whitelighter?”

“It’s not that kind of problem,” she sighed. “Coquito chewed a cord and knocked out power in the entire first floor of Vera Manor. And we’re in the middle of a glamour spell removal—”

“ _Shit,_ ” Wyatt breathed. “You risk exposing non-magic mortals to—”

Matilda nodded. “ _Obscene amounts of magic_.”

“Ok, we’ll be right there. What’s the address again?”

_11:40 am, Vera Manor Foyer, Seattle, Washington_

Upon hearing a knock at the door, Macy opened it, finding herself face-to-face with a tanned gentleman with cropped golden-colored hair, and a much-younger tall, dark-haired fellow. “You must be…?”

“Leo Wyatt and my grandson Wyatt Junior. _At your service._ ”

“Oh! _Oh—_ ” Macy stammered. “Come right on in.” As they entered the foyer, they continued to chat. “You look kind of familiar,” she remarked, peering at Leo, who it appeared, had heard this line many times before.

“I had a stint in the paranormal television industry back in the ‘90s,” he casually responded. “Lots of odd jobs for predominantly-female bosses.”

Macy nodded, if not somewhat skeptical. “And you, _Wyatt_ , if you don’t mind my asking—how do you and Matilda know each other?”

Wyatt turned a pale shade of pink. “We work together at Purgatory Corporation. Or _worked_ , past tense. She transferred last month and I haven’t seen her since. And…” he hesitated but pressed on. “We first met at Camp Wanaka. I was her mentor—”

“That’s news to me,” Maggie interjected, having snuck up on them unnoticed as she laid a hand on Wyatt’s shoulder to suss out any possibility of nefarious means. _There were none. And he definitely held a candle for a certain red-haired—_

“Matilda!” Macy cried out, and a familiar auburn-haired girl stepped out from the corridor shadows. “Keep an eye on Coquito in the kitchen, will you?” Turning back to Leo and Wyatt, Macy pointed to the now-defunct electrical cord swinging aimlessly above the Christmas tree. “Coquito bit off more than he could chew—is there anything you can do?”

“I think so,” Leo replied. “It might take me some time. Wyatt, why don’t you keep Matilda and Coquito company while I fix this?”

“Ok, Gramps,” Wyatt passed them and walked toward the fiery-haired goddess of his dreams, who had left with no plan to return. Matilda wordlessly scooped up Coquito as he followed them both into the other room.

_11:50 am, Vera Manor Foyer, Seattle, Washington_

After checking out various chandelier specifications on his phone, Leo examined the wiring attached to the chandelier from where he stood for several long minutes. Macy and Harry watched from a nearby entryway while Maggie and Jordan hurriedly busied themselves cleaning the rest of the holiday décor.

“Do you need a ladder—” began Harry, noticing Leo reaching for a screwdriver in his toolbelt. In response, Leo rose several feet in the air to unscrew the chandelier cap.

“Nah, I’m good,” he replied to Macy’s astonishment.

“What _are_ you?” Macy exclaimed as Leo threaded several new lamp wires, reaching for the corresponding sockets. Clipping off the chewed area, he restrung the chandelier’s split-and-strip wires, capped, and rehung the entire object. _And voila!_ After placing his screwdriver and nail set back in his toolbelt, he floated back down.

“Your husband should be able to explain that to you,” he replied, giving Harry a pointed look as he dusted himself off. Macy turned to Harry. _What’s he talking about?_ her eyes seemed to say.

“Love, he’s a Whitelighter.”

_11:51 am, Vera Manor Kitchen, Seattle, Washington_

“ _Val_ ,” Wyatt spoke at last, as they seated themselves at the kitchen table, while keeping an eye on Coquito, who curled up on the counter for a nap. “I’ve missed seeing your face.” It was only a month, but it felt like far longer. Though they still worked in the same building for logistical reasons, her reassignment to the advertisement division meant he hadn’t seen so much as a single glimpse of crimson curls, and by extension, the lady that he had come to love. “Honestly, what hurts me most is…” he paused, collecting his thoughts. “You didn’t say goodbye.”

“I’m sorry,” Matilda looked straight ahead toward Vera Manor Garden, focusing on the sodden branches of half-dead begonia bushes, latent and dormant, waiting for Persephone’s Springtime return.

A couple more minutes passed as they sat in silence. “Why did you leave?” he finally asked.

“Among many reasons,” Matilda parsed her words carefully, “an evil creep wants the pyro power I have—even if I’d rather die than give it to him—” Wyatt made as though to speak, but Matilda shook her head. “No, not _you, dumbass,_ ” she half-muttered under her breath as he stifled a laugh. _That’s the Val he knew_. “A blue-faced creature, the Portender. He doesn’t hurt women, but he harms men. _Badly_.” She turned to him. “That time at the market I acted weird? He was stalking me. I couldn’t let him hurt you.”

Wyatt sucked his breath in sharply, and again made as if to speak. “Val, I can handle him! I’m part Whitelighter—” Matilda shook her head.

“He would’ve knocked you into a coma.” She hesitated, then continued. “But deep down—you’re wondering why I fled? _Without saying goodbye?_ ” Wyatt nodded slowly. Matilda stared at her lap, as she felt her eyes prick with tears.

 _“I was afraid you’d leave me first_.”

_11:58 am, Vera Manor Foyer, Seattle, Washington_

“B-but—that’s _impossible!_ ” Macy sputtered. “All the Whitelighters were killed—back when we ascended—”

“All _known_ Whitelighters—” Leo chimed in, as Harry nodded. “My family faked its death by house explosion, and we’ve lived undercover ever since.”

 _Huh, how about that._ Macy was about to ask more questions when Leo called Maggie over from the living room and handed her a tiny spray bottle. “What’s this?”

“Pet-friendly non-toxic spray to prevent Coquito from messing up electric cords in the future.”

“Wow, awesome, thanks!” With that, Maggie returned to her un-decorating spree as Macy, Harry, and Leo watched from where they stood.

“I’d like to trade ‘shop talk’ about our mutual Whitelighter powers—if, of course, that’s ok with you?” Harry asked suddenly.

“Sure, that’d be awesome,” Leo replied with a grin.

“Leo, why don’t you go make yourself at home in the living room—I think Maggie and Jordan are wrapping up there,” Macy said, as the three exited the foyer.

_11:59 am, Vera Manor Garden, Seattle, Washington_

After Maggie and Jordan finished clearing up the living room, Maggie crept into the kitchen to retrieve a sleepy Coquito and told Matilda and Wyatt to go off into the garden. “I’m sure you two have a lot of catching up to do,” she slyly winked, with a not-so-subtle raise of her shoulders.

Matilda stared outside; _was it her imagination, or did the area beneath the ivy trellis grow dark?_ She took a double-take, noticing that the tealights began to glow, creating a somewhat… _romantic…_ appearance. “Um, Aunt Maggie, did you do something to the patio?” But Maggie had disappeared upstairs to help Jordan remove more holiday décor. Matilda sighed as she followed Wyatt outside, closing the door behind them.

_12:10 pm, Vera Manor Living Room, Seattle, Washington_

“So you’re telling me you _don’t_ need to float upward?” Leo asked Harry incredulously. Harry shook his head.

“I simply orb,” Harry said, “like _this,_ ” as he orbed with a simple swirl of air, popping toward the ceiling, then back down again.

“ _Sweet_ ,” responded Leo, impressed. “Elders must’ve leveled up a notch, I keep having this white star thing before I show up. Gets rid of the element of surprise, y’know what I mean?” Harry shifted his weight as he nodded in agreement.

“About _that_ , the Elders…” Harry began. “They—”

“ _I know_ ,” Leo fixed his green eyes on Harry. “I’m Head of Magic School, I tend to hear things—like Elder extinction—and the Source of All Evil—it’s a pity, what happened to Marisol—"

“Right,” Harry coughed indelicately as he attempted to change the subject, as Macy was eavesdropping from the entryway, her hands clenched on the polished wood. “So, school! I used to work in academia myself,” he remarked.

“Really? What did you teach?” asked Leo.

“I was Chair of Women’s Studies at Hilltowne University, back in the day,” Harry replied. 

_“Sweet.”_

“Not to interrupt this nostalgic moment, but Leo, would you like something to drink?” Macy asked, looking toward Harry from where she stood. “A signature cocktail perhaps?”

“Sure, that’d be nice,” responded Leo good-naturedly as Harry rose to assemble the _accoutrements_.

_12:10 pm, Vera Manor Garden, Seattle, Washington_

Matilda sat opposite Wyatt on the picnic table bench, staring at one of the myriad glowing tealights, covered in a subtle shroud of forest green. “ _Do you realize_ ,” she said, fixing upon Wyatt’s visage, “just how hard it was coming into work in the beginning, having to temper my feelings? Trying to conjure fire in the same room as you? Do you know how many times I considered quitting, because of the way I felt you looking at me?”

“Do you think I did that on purpose? _That’s a rhetorical question_ ,” Wyatt added. “You know those weeks after camp ended?” Matilda nodded. _What about them?_ “I tried to remove my feelings,” he continued, as she gasped aloud. “Or I asked around. I wanted to stop feeling the pain of missing you.”

“What happened?” Matilda could hardly breathe as she awaited his response.

“I had a change of heart after talking to my dad. He lost my mom and said he’d never remove memories of her, no matter how much things hurt toward the end,” Wyatt said simply.

“I’m glad he talked sense into you.”

“Yeah, me too,” he answered as he reached across the table with his outstretched hand, which Matilda took as they stood, eye-to-eye. “But _please_ , Val, let me in. We can go after the creep. You’re not alone, ok?” Matilda nodded as he swept an auburn tendril from her visage and softly kissed her on the lips.

_12:30 pm, Vera Manor Living Room, Seattle, Washington_

“Pimms Original,” Harry presented three glasses, one for Leo, and one each for Macy and himself. “A _quintessential_ British drink, if I _do_ say so myself.”

“Thanks,” Leo said, taking his drink and sniffing the rim curiously. “What’s in it?”

“Pimms, fresh lemonade, and garnishes of mint, orange, and cucumber peel,” responded Harry.

“You know, before we drink, I wanted to thank you and your sisters,” Leo regarded Macy in awe. _Interestingly, his facial features reminded her of Gideon from “Heaven’s Vice”—_

“For what?” Macy managed to say, her eyebrow raised just a notch.

“For stopping the Apocalypse. For saving us all,” he replied. “Feels like yesterday the sky lit up like an “American Horror Story” episode gone wrong.”

“Well, _uh_ ,” Macy paused, then recovered her composure. “Thanks for paving the path for us, Whitelighter abilities and all.” She and Leo smiled at each other in mutual understanding.

“A toast!” Harry interrupted Macy’s thoughts. “To the past, present, _and_ future of magic.”

“ _Cheers_!” The three clinked glasses and took a heady sip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rewiring a chandelier:   
> https://atcharlotteshouse.com/rewiring-a-chandelier/  
> Pimms Original:   
> https://www.thespruceeats.com/pimms-no-1-cup-recipe-759329  
> Death Cab for Cutie's "Home is a Fire": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2G-tgrHb4ug


	27. TSoT/MMW: Pomegranate Valspar & A Prophecy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommendation: Listen to Jasmine Ying Thompson's cover of Ed Sheeran's song "I See Fire": https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=gDNMb0q_xTY

27 TSoT/MMW: Pomegranate Valspar & A Prophecy

_“Now I see fire, inside the mountain/I see fire, burning the trees/And I see fire, hollowing souls/And I see fire, blood in the breeze/And I hope that you'll remember me…”_

-Jasmine Ying Thompson (cover), Ed Sheeran, song “I See Fire”

_10 am Azores/6 am EST, Two Weeks Later, January 2046, Matilda’s Bedroom, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23_

_The sheets spread across her, the feathery pages aflutter in a torrential, lashing hurricane as she attempted in vain to take a single piece of parchment and decipher the puzzling calligraphy. A gargantuan Dal segno notation emerged from the hurricane’s eye and flew toward her head, knocking her out instantaneously in one unceremonious swoop._

_And darkness fell._

_She awoke in an amphitheater hall, completely empty and made entirely of marble, her assignment being to match music theory notations to various shades of the color orange. The recitation began. Marigold Vesper. Marigold Sheen. Tangerine. Lion. Peach sorbet. Pomegranate Valspar. Pumpkin. Wort Rose._

_The next set of swatches appeared as the earlier was set aside in a shuffled pile across from her._

_Mandarin Pittsburgh. Marmalade. Hortensia Rose. Morning dusk. Jasmine. Medallion. Alstroemeria. Wandflower. Mustard. Honey. She hurriedly recited the nomenclature from memory. Only ten minutes, then five, then two, then one minute until the end. An evil force crept up behind her—she knew it to be so—as the man roared and uttered a lethal curse. She felt a warm shielding sensation; the reverberating force of the curse knocking her down. Rather than panic, she slackened her weight and remained prostrate on the hard flooring, as she was under orders—telepathic orders—to pretend to have fainted._

Matilda groggily sat up in bed; on a whim, she reached for her phone and typed in all the color swatches off the top of her memory. _Perhaps they’d come in useful today._

_11 am Azores/7 am EST, Epicenter Pico No. 23 to Purgatory Corporation_

Landing in a darkened corridor of the Gateway Subway Station, Matilda dusted herself off and proceeded to the exit, as she noticed a lapis lazuli figure approach once more from the lingering shadows. “I require your service,” Parker the Portender’s voice began. _Sheesh, not again—_

However, Matilda was not alone this time; Wyatt accompanied her from a distance. “Have you reconsidered my offer?” the blue man drew closer as she hastened up the stairs and onto the adjoining sidewalk. She whirled around. “ _What part of no don’t you understand_?” she loosened an earring and sent a spurt of flame shooting squarely onto Parker’s left shoulder as he bellowed in agony.

“You’ll pay for this, witch!” He snarled, as he beat the flame out and vanished.

_11:05 am Azores/7:05 am EST, Epicenter Pico No. 23 to Purgatory Corporation_

Wyatt caught up with Matilda. “Are you ok?” he panted, stooping over to catch his breath. Matilda nodded. After the past weekend with Leo, Wyatt, and her parents, Wyatt had agreed to accompany Matilda to work for her own safety, until the Portender threat was gone. Matilda thought she could handle it on her own, but acquiesced for her father Harry’s sake.

“Yes,” she managed. “ _This isn’t over though_.”

They silently walked past Gateway Park, cutting across Stanwix, and orbed directly from a hidden alley to the 88th floor alcove.

_9:09 am, Wyatt’s Office, 88 th Floor, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

He heard a knock at the door and opened it. Seeing no one, he was about to close the door again when he felt something touch his feet.

_An envelope._

Curious, Wyatt picked it up, looked around, and closed the door behind him, opening the letter in his office, breaking the pomegranate-shaped crimson wax seal.

_Please attend the mandatory 10 am advertisement tutorial held today at the Conference Room._

_-Persephone_

Advertisement? But he worked in conflagration— _unless_ —would Matilda be there? _And what, exactly, were Persephone’s motives? Why did she care so much?_

_10 am, Conference Room, 88 th Floor, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

_Where_ was _everyone?_ Matilda wondered, as she lay out the pieces of paper on the long mahogany conference room table. Then she remembered. _Nelson’s emergency conflagration meeting._ She sighed. _All that preparation for nothing,_ she thought to herself as she made to pack away her art supplies scattered around her.

“Going so soon, Val?” A familiar masculine voice rang out as Matilda shot a glance toward the entryway. _Wyatt._

_10:20 am, Conference Room, 88 th Floor, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

As more people trickled in, Matilda’s anxiety heightened, but Wyatt’s reassuring smile soothed her nerves somewhat as she called the meeting to order. “For those of you who don’t know, my name is Matilda Valensi, and I am a consultant for the advertisement division. We’re going to be generating ideas for an outreach campaign centered on the theme of togetherness, entitled “Take My Hand” as we discussed two sessions ago.”

A woman wearing a polka-dotted dress raised her hand. “How did you get the idea?”

 _This was easy enough_ , Matilda thought to herself. “From talking to my bicoastal family scattered between the Azores, New York, Vermont, and Seattle. The advent of modern technology has been an amazing boon to society with instantaneous communication internationally, but we can do _more_. On the ground, I mean,” she clarified. “According to recent Purgatorial studies, 70% of incoming residents regret not taking the time to call a loved one, bring a casserole dish over, drawing a picture, or holding a simple face-to-face conversation with a friend before their own untimely demise. And I think it’s time we did something about it.” Matilda saw a sea of nodding heads.

“We’ll start at the micro-level, working within our own organization,” she continued. “Each week, I want you to do a civic task described on this calendar,” Matilda brought out a large piece of poster board from behind her. “Not a heavy lift, but we’ve all got to start somewhere. Along with that, we’ll learn about color symbology with the swatches I’ve provided below to jump-start conversation amongst yourselves.” Matilda reached for another placard, which generated a few hearty chuckles around the room, entitled “Thirty Shades of Tangerine,” which depicted creative names for various shades of orange, including “cantaloupe, sunset boulevard, and flamingo peach.”

“These micro-level efforts will help us rebrand Purgatory and change people’s lives at the outset, before they are in need of our help in the Afterlife,” she continued. “90% of incoming Purgatory residents associate the color grey with our establishment, and that needs to change. Orange is the perfect branding color—it combines the passion of red with the happiness of heaven-like yellow— _the best of both combinations,_ in my opinion. Purgatory isn’t all about ‘waiting’—it’s about strength, encouragement, determination, and creativity.”

Matilda paused and began the next part of her talk. “Everyone, take a minute to walk around the table and examine the swatches. Which one’s your favorite and why? Discuss it with someone who’s _not_ in your division. Consider the artistic mediums too—watercolor texture, canvas, Instagram filters, et cetera. _Go wild._ ”

_11:30 am, Conference Room, 88 th Floor, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

The meeting had been a success, by all counts, Matilda surmised as she saw the crowd pour out of the room and onto the hallway, talking eagerly amongst themselves. She packed up her color swatches and posters and felt a tap on her shoulder.

“Matilda you did great!” Wyatt began as she turned to her, auburn curls and all, Princess Merida-like. “Will you…”

“Will I…?” Matilda raised an eyebrow as she slung her materials into a duffel bag.

“Will you…do me the honor of pyro practice? Basement, after work? And maybe dinner after?”

Matilda grinned. “Thought you’d never ask.”

_5 pm, 88 th Floor Alcove, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

Matilda felt her pocket buzz and retrieved her phone.

_Where are you? -Mom_

She bit her lip, trying to think up her response.

_Working overtime. Grabbing dinner with a coworker. Eat without me. Getting home late. -Tilly_

_6:40 pm, Basement Target Practice Room, Purgatory Corporation (PC), One PC Avenue, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

The _Rise_ crystal decanter sat atop the Dutch _Shunan_ iron coffee table. Matilda generated eight miniature flames rotating several feet off the ground, sending them shooting to the wall, followed by shooting a flame straight onto the mouth of the decanter. _No wonky flames this time_ , thought Matilda with satisfaction, as Wyatt gaped.

“W-Wow,” he breathed. “ _How did you—”_

Matilda smiled enigmatically. “Practice makes perfect, right?”

“Yeah, just, you’re _really_ good—” Wyatt quickly added, “not that you weren’t before, I mean—” he cleared his throat. “ _Anyways._ I think we’re about done for today. As for dinner—” he offered his arm and Matilda took it as they orbed off into the night.

_7:50 pm, Burn by Rocky Patel, 346 N Shore Dr., Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

The convivial atmosphere, with its ambient dance music and overhead paper lanterns shaped like the rose quartz Matilda was raised around, entranced her as the pair sat at their canopy birdcage-shaped seats finishing up a shared meal of scrumptious meatballs and sliders on islander bread. The flooring was a diamond-like pattern of grey, black, and ivory hues, with art deco-style royal blue couches, cream-colored seating, and reupholstered antique furniture in desert ambiance colors of dusky rose, flame, and cobalt.

“So, _Val,_ ” remarked Wyatt. “How _did_ you get so good? Last time we trained, you were shooting that flame through the hoop back and forth like you wanted to—"

She laughed, her stray curls bobbing this way and that. “My bedroom has a fire-proof balcony; I’ve been working on my moves every night.”

“Cool,” Wyatt said, reaching for Matilda’s hand. “That’s really awesome your parents are so supportive of your powers.”

“Technically, I should be thanking my Azorian ancestors,” mused Matilda. “They cast a spell that created extra bedrooms to encourage future generations to live at Epicenter Pico. According to Valensi lore, my mom was pregnant with me and Henry and a door popped out of nowhere, which led to a spiral staircase, then a rec room, and three bedrooms—”

“One for you, your sister, and Henry?” Matilda nodded.

“My sister got the bigger of the three and decorated it with floral prints. My brother had the middle bedroom with a huge window for daydreaming—makes perfect sense, he’s a philosopher now, _always_ ruminating on Sophocles, and I have the bedroom with the fireproof balcony.”

“Because of your fire powers?”

“Yup. It’s like the house _knew…_ knew that we were coming along, powers or whatever, before we were born. Crazy, right?” Matilda’s emerald eyes fixed upon Wyatt’s own.

“Not really,” remarked Wyatt, who, much to Matilda’s surprise, didn’t seem especially weirded out. “Halliwell Manor is like that too, I mean, it has a personality. Plus protection wards, like Vera Manor, though there was that one time it got wonky and kicked my grandma and great-aunts out. _That_ was rough…”

“Yeah, sounds like that one time my mom tried to reenter Vera Manor during her first Christmas there. Except it _wasn’t_ her, and the real _her_ was tied up in the toolshed,” Matilda thought aloud. “I mean she’s obviously fine now, but _man…_ sorry, I’m totally digressing.” Matilda took a sip of her drink. “My parents’ve always been supportive of my powers, even though they don’t always understand what I do. I know my mom freaked out in the beginning—I mean, _who gets pregnant expecting a pyro kid, amirite?_ But it worked out in the end.”

“It usually does,” Wyatt said softly. “My parents expected my Whitelighter powers, and that’s what happened. They didn’t expect the mild dyslexia though, which threw them for a loop.”

“Oh jeez,” Matilda’s brow furrowed. “How bad was your childhood?”

“Not terrible—I scraped by. It was mild. Kept reversing my “b’s,” “d’s,” and didn’t learn to read until I was six. I kept wondering why I was so slow. Grandma Piper blamed video games, she used to ground me all the time when my parents were away doing vanquishings. _Little did she know_ ,” he laughed ruefully, as Matilda had a sudden urge to wrap her arms around him, imagining him as a scared and confused youngster.

“That _sucks_ ,” Matilda stated. “She shouldn’t have—it wasn’t your fault— _you were only six_ —”

“Yeah, hindsight is 20/20. But once I got diagnosed in middle school, Grams read up on all the scholarly literature, and _literally_ moved heaven and earth to find me the best speech-language pathologist, Deirdre, a retired Elder. Grams drilled me on my vocabulary using ‘top-down’ strategies when I struggled with my Arthurian literature class. I owe her a lot. And I guess,” Wyatt paused to stab a stray meatball with his fork, “ _it fed into my prophecy too_.”

_8:15 pm, Burn by Rocky Patel, 346 N Shore Dr., Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

“ _Prophecy_?” Matilda echoed. “What do you mean?”

“Deirdre entered a trance during one of my therapy sessions and predicted I’d become mentor to an extraordinarily special pupil.”

“What else did she say?” inquired Matilda. Wyatt stared at his glass and hesitated. Matilda couldn’t help but feel disappointed at the letdown, _unless_ …“Is that how you ended up at Camp Wanaka?” she asked. Wyatt nodded.

“I’ve always excelled at outdoorsy stuff. And tutoring,” he continued. “But mainly, I wanted to prepare myself for the student.”

“Did you find him?” Matilda couldn’t help but ask, as instrumental music played in the background.

“Yes, I found _her._ ”

“Who _is_ she?” Matilda asked, thoroughly intrigued. She didn’t recall seeing any female student pass by their office at Purgatory Corporation, nor did she remember him doing any one-on-one activities with other camp-goers.

“Well…” Wyatt pulled at his shirt collar nervously. “It turned out to be… _you.”_

_8:20 pm, Burn by Rocky Patel, 346 N Shore Dr., Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

“Wait, _what?_ ” exclaimed Matilda. _How was this even possible? Her parents never mentioned anything about a prophecy, and her own mother was a Charmed One!_ “But—” she stammered, “that’s not possible. It could be _anyone_ from Camp Wanaka—there’s a _ton_ of special pupils—”

“Yeah, about that…” he trailed off. “Deirdre said the pupil would have fiery hair. She talked in allegories. It’s definitely you.” Matilda’s younger self would have broken away from him and fled into the abyss, but something in his eyes made her stay to hear him out.

“How long have you known?” she muttered, glancing around, hoping nobody was eavesdropping.

“I suspected the moment I was assigned to you at Wanaka, but as my dad always says, prophecies are an ‘inexact science.’ Just because someone makes a prediction doesn’t mean it’ll come true. Humans have free will, right? They can choose to be a part of the prophecy— _or not_.”

“Ok…,” replied Matilda slowly. Several more moments passed by as she stared at the cutlery in front of her, finally looking back up at Wyatt. “So, uh, who else knows?”

“Just me, Deirdre, my dad (for safety reasons), and, now, _you_. I don’t believe in spilling secrets. Plus, there are rules. If I said anything before it came true, it would cause a disturbance in the atmosphere, a Lorenz theory “butterfly effect” gone wrong.”

“Right—thanks,” Matilda spoke once more. “I guess…” she paused to collect her thoughts. “It’s just that I’ve lived my entire life thinking that all I did was vandalize buildings and bar crawls by accident. I think it’s _insane_ that a divine entity singled me out. Why _me?_ I mean, it should’ve been Maya, she got a 4.0 medical school GPA at Columbia and orbs to her modelling auditions, they should’ve made the prophecy about _her—_ ”

Wyatt laughed. “But they didn’t. The deities made their pick, and they chose _you._ You’ve got many special qualities that nobody else has, that nobody ever will. _”_

“Like what?” scoffed Matilda, though she wore a softer expression. “ _Fire?_ ”

He shook his head. “Your ability to keep calm under pressure, your ability to channel one of the most dangerous raw substances known to humankind, and…the ability to look _absolutely_ gorgeous while doing so,” he finished, barely above a whisper.

_8:30 pm, Burn by Rocky Patel, 346 N Shore Dr., Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

On a whim _(was it the alcohol?)_ , Matilda strode to the nearby dance floor, hearing the beginning beats of Jasmine Ying Thompson’s cover rendition of Ed Sheeran’s “I See Fire.”

She turned to face him. “Wyatt Halliwell Jr., will you get your ass over here and dance with me?” His face tilted in an inscrutable expression. “ _Please?”_

Upon hearing those words, Wyatt subtly smiled, as he rose from his seat and walked toward the lovely lady that had beckoned him forward, who had finally claimed his heart for her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Burn by Rocky Patel:   
> https://www.burnbyrockypatel.com/  
> Jasmine Ying Thompson’s cover of Ed Sheeran’s song “I See Fire”:  
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=gDNMb0q_xTY  
> Mild Dyslexia source:  
> https://www.readandspell.com/us/mild-dyslexia  
> Other sources: years-ago firsthand conversations with a speech-language pathologist, in addition to conversations with someone who has mild dyslexia


	28. TSoT/MMW: Marmalade & The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommendation: Listen to Daniela Andrade's song "Genesis": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3BLudvbo5y0

28 TSoT/MMW: Marmalade & The Morning After

 _“Knowing me it takes some time/Diamonds are a little shy/But wait and see, I’ll hit some gold/And I’mma be a sight to hold…”_ -Daniela Andrade, song “Genesis”

_8:30 pm, Burn by Rocky Patel, 346 N Shore Dr., Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

On a whim _(was it the alcohol?)_ , Matilda strode to the nearby dance floor, hearing the beginning beats of Jasmine Ying Thompson’s cover rendition of Ed Sheeran’s “I See Fire.”

She turned to face him. “Wyatt Halliwell Jr., will you get your ass over here and dance with me?” His face tilted in an inscrutable expression. “ _Please?”_

Upon hearing those words, Wyatt subtly smiled, as he rose from his seat and walked toward the lovely lady that had beckoned him forward, who had finally claimed his heart for her own.

_8:50 pm, Burn by Rocky Patel, 346 N Shore Dr., Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania_

“Wanna head out? Go someplace quieter?” Matilda murmured in Wyatt’s ear as the music finished.

He lifted her chin and kissed her. “ _Are you sure?”_

“Yeah. Your place or mine?”

“Not Halliwell Manor—my Gran checks rooms, has been ever since my dad was nearly abducted from his crib.” _Well, that settled that then_ , Matilda thought to herself as she whispered the exact address of her Azores home, down to the exact specifications of her bedroom.

_12:50 am Azores/8:50 pm EST, Matilda’s Bedroom, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23_

They landed with a soft thump onto Matilda’s queen-sized mattress. “ _Wow…_ everything smells so… _nice,_ ” Wyatt remarked a couple of seconds later.

Matilda lit a nearby candle with a twist of her wrist and turned to face him, an eyebrow raised, then she realized what it was. “My gramps grows jasmine, mint, basil, and comfrey—has been for a while, and I usually keep my balcony door cracked open to let the aroma in. It’s what makes this place feel like home.”

“ _Cool_ ,” replied Wyatt. “My gran and great-aunts just light vanilla Yankee candles and call it a day,” he laughed. “Or incense sticks. Or whatever.”

_1 am, Matilda’s Bedroom, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23_

Suddenly, the two found each other kissing with greater munificence, as if to absorb the other’s soul in whatever way they could. Matilda reached for her phone, turning on Daniela Andrade’s song “Genesis,” a soft, sultry song, its crooning melody permeating the room as they helped each other shed their garments, raining kisses onto the other. After Matilda unbuttoned Wyatt’s shirt, he bade her to turn around as he nipped at the base of her neck with his teeth, unzipping her dress with a torturously slow pace, which tumbled to the floor in a heap.

_And here they were, once more. Not aggressively fucking on a doorway, the epitome of a trashy Harlequin novel, but in each other’s arms amid tender caresses as they gingerly explored the other’s body. Matilda could feel his hardness bump against her thigh and she welcomed the feeling, as it had been so long since their earlier rendezvous. The two situations couldn’t have been more different. Instead of amplifiers and frenzied staccatos, their evening began with a fire-shooting lesson, continued with dinner and a dance—as normal as could be for two magical beings._

_After unwrapping a foil packet from Matilda’s drawer, the pair commenced their languorous movements; Wyatt positioned himself outside her petaled folds once more, entering her slowly as they gasped aloud at the tantalizing sensation, as the bare physicality of their sexes became reacquainted once more in the unembellished surroundings of Matilda’s flame-proof bedroom._

_Several minutes of sensual movements led to a gradual crescendo, culminating in a passionate arc as the two came together, silently screaming the other’s name._

_11:45 am, Next Morning, Kitchen, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23_

Harry poured his cup of freshly-brewed tea as he surveyed the English language _Diário dos Açores_ newspaper in front of him. “Love,” he called to Macy who was making herself a berry smoothie, “have you seen Tilly this morning?”

Macy frowned. “No…” she answered slowly. “She was supposed to come back after a late dinner with a colleague…”

_11:46 am, Matilda’s Bedroom, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23_

“Just _where_ do you think _you’re_ going?” Matilda murmured after Wyatt, who was already dressed.

He moved toward her and kissed her on the forehead. “Home, duty calls—” but his last words were cut off as Matilda sprang toward him and pinned his wrists to the wall, causing a large _bang_ to echo through the room. Neither took any notice as they commenced where they left off last night, _round 2,_ Matilda finding herself straddling Wyatt’s muscular form, moaning breathlessly into his ear—

_11:50 am, Spiral Staircase, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23_

Harry and Macy pried open the walled door and traversed the wrought-iron spiral staircase. “ _Matilda!”_ they shouted. “Are you ok?”

_11:51 am, Matilda’s Bedroom, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23_

The pair sprang apart. _“Shit, my parents—_ ” whispered Matilda. “You gotta leave _now—_ front door—”

 _Do I have to?_ Wyatt’s expression pleaded.

“ _Let. Me. Go.”_ Matilda hissed, and without another word, Wyatt orbed outside just as Harry and Macy burst in.

“Uh… _hey!”_ Matilda crossed her legs from where she sat on the edge of her bed, attempting to appear as innocent as possible, as Macy bit her lip and hid a smirk, staring at the brown leather loafers that had been left behind.

Harry met Macy’s eyes as it suddenly dawned on him. _A generational déjà vu if there ever was one._

_12:10 pm, Front Entryway, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23_

Matilda heard a faint knock at the door and opened it to usher Wyatt in once more, this time shoe-less. She turned to her parents, maintaining her composure all the while. “Uh, mom, dad, meet Wyatt, he’s a friend from work.” Macy and Harry gave each other knowing looks. _Right._

“Wyatt, why don’t you sit down and grab some breakfast with us,” Macy spoke up, deciding to relieve her daughter of the awkwardness of the morning “walk-of-shame.”

 _Is that ok with you?_ Wyatt turned to Matilda, who nervously nodded.

_12:30 pm, Kitchen, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23_

“Would you like some marmalade with your sweetened roll?” asked Harry politely.

“Sure, that’d be great,” Wyatt responded, as Harry passed him the jar.

“Please pass the scrambled eggs and ketchup, mom,” Matilda called out, and Macy did so, using her telekinesis as Wyatt gaped in wonderment.

“Wow, Dr. Valensi,” he exclaimed. “That’s really neat!”

Macy grinned. “One of the perks of being a Charmed One,” she remarked as she took a sip of her smoothie. “It _never_ gets old.”

_1 pm, Kitchen, Madalena Village, Azores, Epicenter Pico No. 23_

“Mom, what do you and dad know of the Portender? All I know is it’s Parker, Aunt Maggie’s ex.” Macy swallowed hard as Harry’s fists clenched beside him. _They knew it was a matter of time before their daughter attracted nefarious attention._

“Has he—” Macy gulped. “Has he—accosted you?”

“ _Twice,”_ Wyatt interjected. “Once, he was friendly, the second time, I kept a close watch, and he didn’t get the hint—”

“ _When was this?”_ Harry asked in a dangerously low voice.

“Yesterday,” Matilda half-whispered, staring at what remained of her scrambled eggs.

“We need to go to Vera Manor ASAP,” spoke Macy suddenly, and Harry jumped up to help clear the dishes from the table.

_2:30 pm Azores/7:30 am, Living Room, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

“According to this encrypted magico-psychology webpage compendium,” Maggie began, “the Portender is Parker Caine, notorious for collecting four fire souls voluntarily but needs the fifth to complete “The Portender’s Pentacle”—a source of unbridled power,” she ended, to Wyatt, Matilda, Macy, and Harry’s horror.

“I’m the fifth?” murmured Matilda faintly. _Why do I have all the shit luck in this family_ , she couldn’t help but wonder. “How do we defeat him?” Matilda finally asked.

“ _We can’t_ ,” Maggie whispered as she fought back the urge to cry. _Or scream._ At first, she was confused when the group had orbed onto the carpet just as she was trying to get her beauty sleep. _And now, the sudden bombshell that her youngest niece was part of a diabolical power grab by none other than her evil ex-boyfriend. Somehow, she herself felt responsible, for introducing this creep to Vera Manor and her sisters, all those years ago…_

“What do you mean, _we can’t_?” responded Macy sharply. “This is my daughter we’re talking about!”

“I _mean_ ,” said Maggie, “the only day the Pentacle can be defeated is when there is a loosening of magical force on the next auspicious date in April of this year—”

“Meaning?” Matilda asked.

“ _Meaning,_ that you, Tilly, must be at Vera Manor on 4/6/46, face-to-face with Parker, and must kill all four fire souls—fire people— _whatever—_ to ultimately vanquish him,” stated Harry, as Maggie nodded in agreement.

“I know some folks who can help,” Wyatt spoke up suddenly, as the rest of the room turned toward him. “My Great-Aunt Paige, my Grandma Piper, Great-Aunt Phoebe, Gramps Leo, and my dad, Wyatt Senior, or Wy.”

“Look, Wyatt,” began Matilda kindly, “I know you mean to help, but this is _serious_ shit—”

“ _I know_ ,” he said, finally deciding now was the time to tell them. “You see, Paige, Piper, and Phoebe—they’re the former Charmed Ones,” he said, to the astonishment of all present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Daniela Andrade's song "Genesis": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3BLudvbo5y0  
> Note: Prudence, the original Charmed One before Paige appeared on the scene, died before Wyatt Senior was born so he didn't know much about the specifics of her telekinesis (by extension, neither did Wyatt Jr.)  
> Next chapter: Piper visits Vera Manor


	29. TFB: Piper & Pavlova Meringue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This begins "Matilda, Child of Fire," Part 3: "The Final Battle (TFB)"

29 TFB: Piper & Pavlova Meringue

_“I feel fine, we may not have been born/As awake as you were/It was much harder in those days”_

_-_ Alanis Morissette, song “The Couch”

_6 pm, February 2046, Entryway, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

Matilda paced around the entryway of Vera Manor, wearing a white floral V-neck polydupioni maxi dress, nervously biting at her cuticles until Wyatt enveloped her into a silent hug.

“She’s a little interesting, but I think she’ll be key in defeating Portender,” he said. “She’ll _love_ you.”

“You think so?”

Wyatt nodded, understanding Matilda’s fear coupled with frustration at not having been told his family was descended from its own line of Charmed Ones. But she knew her most important priority was her family’s safety, so she let that slide— _for the time being, at least_. Grandmother Piper, being a former Charmed One, was key to their April planning, after all.

“Where’s your dad and gramps?” Matilda asked out of the blue.

Wyatt sighed. “My dad, Wyatt Senior, aka “Wy” and Gramps Leo, are at Camp Wanaka helping Great-Aunt Paige wrestle a rogue Taniwha.”

“The same sea monster that ate my hair?” Matilda cringed.

“ _Yup_.”

_6:10 pm, February 2046, Alcove, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

The petite, sharp-eyed figure passed the Vera Manor threshold, shaking Matilda’s hand and peering up at her emerald eyes. _Grandma Piper, in the flesh,_ Matilda thought to herself.

“Wow, Wyatt wasn’t kidding when he said your hair’s red! Lovely exotic features though. Where’re you from?” Piper inquired.

Matilda was puzzled. “Um… _Seattle_?”

“No, I mean, where’re you _really_ from? You and Wyatt here would make some _gorgeous_ babies!”

Wyatt flushed. “Gran, you can’t say that! This is 2046—”

“Why not?” asked Piper, unaware of Macy’s mounting anger, partly fueled by her menopausal symptoms as of late, coupled with her distaste for fetishization. “What’s your story?”

“Oh, you mean how our ancestor Denis was forcibly kidnapped from his homeland, sent aboard a disease-ridden ship, and sentenced to servitude on the Azores Islands, then ran away with Terezinha, _then_ bought property that’s been in our Portuguese-British-American triple citizenship family all these years? _That_ story?” Macy spat, as the rest of the room, save Piper, collectively winced.

No one spoke for the next few minutes, as Macy’s glare permeated throughout the room. _I dare you,_ her eyes seemed to say. Behind her and outside the realm of her vision, Harry pointed at his wife, mouthing the words _“menopause”_ and “ _mood swings,”_ rather prominently.

Macy’s face turned a deep puce. Harry abruptly changed the subject; he could’ve sworn he heard several wine glasses shatter in the nearby curio, undoubtedly set off by his wife’s rage-fed telekinesis.

Mel, Matilda, and Maggie stared at each other, then over at Macy who inhaled sharply next to Harry.

“How about we start over a bit? Get to know each other— _right, sweetie?_ ” Harry gasped as Macy clenched his hand in a vice grip. _Do this for Tilly_ , he wordlessly pleaded. _Fine_ , Macy rolled her eyes and let go.

_6:50 pm, Dining Room, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

“Your powers evolved, right? Who got telekinesis?” Piper inquired, looking past the dining room table toward Macy, Mel, and Maggie as they enjoyed Harry’s roast and jacket potatoes, fresh from the oven.

Macy raised her hand. “Guilty as charged,” she laughed ruefully, recalling the day she received the news she was a Charmed One. “And no, there’s no magic turbo power, unfortunately—” Piper looked disappointed but pressed on as she sliced into her jacket potato, adding a bit of gravy drippings from the porcelain container.

“What about the Book of Shadows? I’d love to dust it off and take a look, if it’s still in its attic?” Piper went on, now surveying Maggie, who was delicately slicing her vegan sausage.

Maggie’s hand paused over her knife, now looking uncomfortable. “Actually, it was…destroyed.”

“ _Destroyed?_ ” Piper shrieked. “We spent eight years and endless Starbucks runs for _this?”_ Wyatt put his hand on his grandmother’s shoulders, which helped her calm down momentarily.

_7 pm, Dining Room, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

“Glad you have the house though, it’s really lovely—” Piper tried to salvage the earlier conversation.

“Yeah, about that,” interjected Mel, “we moved it back in 2019 from Michigan to Seattle—”

“It’s name is Lucretia, she’s really nice—” added Maggie, as Piper paled.

“You _moved_ the house? You could’ve been seen! Or injured—or— _or—”_

“Pot calling the kettle black, though, considering you all went out with a literal bang, no?” asked Wyatt slyly.

“Wyatt, _a word_?” He followed Piper into the hallway.

_7:05 pm, Hallway, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

“Irresponsible with magic! _Completely_ irresponsible!” cried Piper. “And you expect me to help _them_ vanquish the _Portender?_ There’s no way— _they’re screwed_ —”

“Look, Grandma—” Wyatt began, but Piper wasn’t finished.

“And what’s with the necromancer rumor? That sounds shady as f—" Piper rolled her eyes in annoyance. _Stupid broadcast standards, still as attached as ever._

Matilda stepped into the hallway, previously unnoticed. “My mom, Macy, was supposed to be stillborn—she probably doesn’t want anyone to know—and part of the deal was her mom had to leave when she turned two, to avoid a gruesome death. She never met her, and only has one photo of her in front of Vera Manor. _Look_ , I’m sorry we invited you— _this was a mistake_ ,” and she fled for the back patio to collect her thoughts.

Piper’s eyes softened, then teared up. “ _I had no idea_ —” she whispered.

“Yeah, no one really likes to talk about it—” Wyatt spoke. “I’ll coax her back.”

“Thanks,” whispered Piper. Several more moments passed as Wyatt held an exchange with Matilda, who looked as if she’d uttered a few British curse words under her breath ( _can’t imagine where she learned those_ , muttered Harry), as he and Macy surveyed the unfolding chaos from the kitchen, under the excuse of washing the dishes.

_7:20 pm, Vera Manor Garden, Seattle, Washington_

“This was a mistake—I _never_ should’ve asked for help—” Matilda was pacing back and forth beneath the garden’s trellised tealights, thoroughly regretting asking Wyatt to invite his grandma to dinner.

“It’s not a mistake—we need all the help we can get. Grams is kind of awkward penguin sometimes.”

“ _What?”_

“Awkward penguin,” responded Wyatt. “Means well, but trips on her own words every now and then. She’s strict, but she really means well if you give her a chance. _Do it for me_?”

Matilda couldn’t say no to Wyatt’s puppy-dog eyes. “ _Fine,”_ she said in a huff as they hugged under the tealights. “ _Just this one time_.”

_7:30 pm, Living Room, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

Several minutes later, Wyatt returned to the dinner table, Matilda following shortly after.

“Who wants dessert?” Harry asked, bringing out a Pavlova meringue dotted with berries and chocolates. Matilda could have sworn she heard Arlissa in the background.

“ _Thanks_ ,” whispered Matilda to Wyatt, as he squeezed her hand. This dinner wasn’t the fiasco she originally imagined it would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> White Floral Gown:  
> https://www.eshakti.com/productdetail.aspx?ProductId=Plunge-rose-print-dupioni-dress-CL0056003&utm_source=Facebook&utm_medium=US_ATC&fbclid=IwAR0ggyDonbjOQW0p0lh7cK6qI6voujWBhYrdggDIQ_BOIz7d91C3UBQ_GJM  
> BBC Recipe for Pavlova Meringue:   
> https://www.bbc.co.uk/food/recipes/pavlova_53849  
> "The Couch" by Alanis Morissette:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oMbjICXQ49g  
> Macy's visceral reaction partly inspired by Charmed Reboot S1E8 "Bug a Boo":  
> https://charmed-reboot.fandom.com/wiki/Bug_a_Boo  
> Broadcast standards inspired by Charmed Reboot S1E14 "Touched by a Demon":  
> https://charmed-reboot.fandom.com/wiki/Touched_by_a_Demon


	30. TFB: Of Fantasy & Football

30 TFB: Of Fantasy & Football

_“Home is a fire/A burning reminder/Of where we belong…”_

-Death Cab for Cutie, song “Home is a Fire”

_Noon, Saturday, March 2046, Living Room, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

“It is time this Vera-Valensi-Chase-Halliwell meeting came to order,” Harry called out at the throng of magical folk seated in the living room’s velveteen couches before him.

“ _Wyatt,_ ” Leo called out. “You forgot ‘Wyatt.’”

“My apologies,” spoke Harry again. “Vera-Valensi-Chase-Halliwell-Wyatt.”

Fourteen people were in attendance—the Halliwells, plus the Vera clan (except Abigael and Tory), and Valensi descendants (save Maya and Henry). Maya was wrapping up her clinical research rotations at Columbia, Henry didn’t have magical powers and was busy lecturing, Tory was in the middle of law school final exams, and Abigael was… _Abigael,_ attending monster board meetings, literally speaking. Morgana and Matias couldn’t risk traveling due to old age (a century and counting).

“We’re here,” Matilda chimed in, “to figure out how to leverage our shared power to defeat the Portender and his fire spawn, once and for all,” as everyone nodded in understanding—except one.

“There’s nothing you can do. It’ll find us, and when it does, we’re all dead,” muttered Maggie morosely as Harry and Matilda glanced in her general direction.

“Well, _you’re_ just a ray of sunshine now, aren’t ya!” Piper shot back, from the opposite couch where she, her sisters, her husband, and grandson Wyatt were. “We didn’t orb all the way from California for _that_ defeatist attitude—"

“We kick evil’s ass every day,” said Paige, sipping her glass of sparkling water.

“Sometimes twice a day,” added Phoebe confidently. “We can _totally_ do this!”

_12:20 pm, Living Room, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

“This is a diagram of all known powers, plus a battle draft,” began Jordan, who took his turn at the helm.

“Wait, isn’t that your fantasy football board?” Maggie asked, somewhat skeptically, eyeing the tournament brackets of the left half of Jordan’s dry erase board, the right side completely blank.

“Yeah, but lemme get to it,” he answered as he began writing on the right side. “For purposes of combat, we have Wyatt’s family—Piper, Phoebe, Paige. We also have Matilda’s family—Macy, Harry, Maggie, Jordan, Mel, and Abigael,” writing a “(?)” question mark next to Abigael’s name, as nobody was certain whether she would show up to fight, due to whatever pacts she was currently negotiating.

“Wait, what about me?” Leo asked. “I can fight too—”

“True,” replied Jordan, “but from what Harry and I understand of your family and ours, we gotta keep our families safe too. We want you and Mel’s daughter Tory to stand guard over Matias and Morgana at Epicenter Pico No. 22 on the day of in case any fire spawn attack or try to hold them hostage.”

“Ok,” said Leo slowly. “Where _exactly_ is this ‘Epicenter Pico’?”

“The Azores Islands,” Harry answered casually, as Leo’s mouth dropped open.

“ _Seriously?”_ he breathed. “Awesome!”

Piper shot Leo an exasperated look. “Lemme get this straight, Harry, my husband’s going on a tropical vacation while we fight to the death? That doesn’t sound fair—"

“Fair? Hardly,” admitted Harry, much to Piper’s surprise, who expected more hedging. “Equitable though? _Absolutely._ ”

Piper sighed. “ _Fine.”_

_12:27 pm, Living Room, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

“As for Matilda’s side of the family,” continued Jordan, “we want Wyatt Senior, “Wy,” to stand guard with Maya over Henry in Vermont.”

“Is that _really_ necessary?” Wy asked, his eyebrow raised. “We’d be better off on the ground, helping the Charmed Ones— _all_ of them—fight. Right?”

“Well,” interjected Harry, “another reason we’re doing this is to make sure everyone’s not all in the same place at once.”

“Why’s that?” inquired Wy.

“ _So the Portender doesn’t change his mind and extinguish five generations of magic in one sitting_ ,” whispered Maggie, a stray tear flowing down her cheek.

Jordan walked over to where Maggie was sitting, stroking her back. “Sweetie, are you ok enough to sit in on this? You don’t have to—” Maggie shook her head vehemently and took several deep breaths.

“I’m ok, Jordan, I swear.”

_12:45 pm, Living Room, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

Harry then wrote down a comprehensive list of combat abilities, grouping them by topic: Whitelighters, telekinesis, mind/spells, mobility/potions, and fire:

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

_Whitelighters:_

Wyatt and Harry—orbing and healing

_Telekinesis:_

Paige—telekinetic orbing (objects into hand)

Macy—telekinesis

_Mind/Spells:_

Phoebe—precognition and empathy

Maggie—mind control and empathy

_Mobility/Potions:_

Piper—immobilization

Mel—boiling and freezing, immobilization, potions

_Fire:_

Matilda—pyro-kinesis, pyro-immobilization, pyro-telepathy

Jordan—(non-magic) fire extinguisher(?)

\-------------------------------

Harry looked around the room. “For the next half hour, I want the people listed in these categories to spread out across Vera Manor, introduce yourselves if you don’t know each other already, and brainstorm ways to defeat the Portender. You have till 1:15 pm. Starting….” He clicked his phone’s stopwatch on. “ _Now!”_

_12:49 pm, Living Room, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

“I’m Paige—”

“Macy—” as the two shook hands. “D’you want to meet upstairs in the attic?”

“Sure, race you there?” Paige said, with a twinkle in her eye.

_12:53 pm, Attic, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

Macy pushed the door open as Paige sat squarely on the soft vintage couch. “You _can’t_ be serious,” Macy breathed. “You’re part Whitelighter?” Paige nodded, laughing aloud.

“You must’ve had a charmed childhood, _pun intended_ ,” Macy mused aloud. Hearing this, Paige’s eyes grew somber; she shook her head.

“Not exactly…I mean,” Paige hurriedly added, “don’t get me wrong, being adopted’s _awesome_ , but I didn’t find out till my twenties that I had sisters— _magical ones_.”

“Wait, so you _didn’t_ know Piper and Phoebe were family?” Macy was surprised. Paige shook her head.

“And this was after Prue’s death, the oldest, _super_ sore subject, so, _yeah,_ it got complicated—"

“Guess we have something in common then…” said Macy slowly. “I didn’t find out till much later either. Necromancer stuff, being reborn, y’know. Right after my mom’s death.”

“Yeah, Piper filled us in.”

“Did you have a necromancer curse too?” Macy then asked. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to—”

“No, it’s ok,” said Paige. “No curse. Just—being left on a doorstep by Patty and her Whitelighter lover—”

“ _Oh my God_ ,” whispered Macy. “I’m _so_ sorry—”

“Don’t be,” Paige replied. “I was lucky enough to have two awesome parents, and now I have two awesome sisters. I got lucky. _Like you._ ”

_3 pm, Living Room, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

After reconvening for a late lunch at 1:30 pm ( _tea, cucumber lox sandwiches, and miniature chicken pot pies_ ), it was unanimously agreed that Leo and Tory would likely keep watch over the Azores region where Morgana and Matias were, as they were much older by this time and vulnerable to attacks, even if they themselves thought they were invincible.

Matilda’s brother Henry, having minimal magical power of his own, was able to carve out a life for himself in a sleepy town in Vermont, and Maya and Wy would likely orb there and stand guard as things commonly transpired. Abigael had a myriad of mysterious board meetings.

Jordan’s tournament brackets were still mostly empty, but at the center was written “Matilda” versus “Portender,” with notes in the margins for Plans A through C, and plan S.

Phoebe raised her hand. “What’s Plan S?”

“Plan ‘Shit-Hits-the-Fan,’” Jordan replied as Phoebe and Maggie exchanged wary looks. “Any other questions?” Nobody answered.

“Alrighty then,” Harry began. “It’s time for our next session—” as he produced a two-inch-diameter orb. Matilda groaned. _She knew exactly what_ that _meant._

_3:15 pm, Living Room, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

“Um, what’s _that?_ ” Piper asked, pointing at the orb.

“A simulation crystal, to create scenarios to test our powers before we battle the Portender. Practice makes perfect, after all—”

“But _Dad_ ,” Matilda entreated Harry. “What if I accidentally burn someone? Honestly, I’m scared I could do some _serious_ damage—” but Harry shook his head.

Phoebe piped up, “I'm not afraid of our powers. I mean, everyone inherits something from their family, right?” she said, looking in Matilda’s direction, who resignedly agreed. _So it was settled._

“Consider this first simulation,” Harry paused, “a _diagnostic test_ of your abilities.”

_3:30 pm, Simulation, Living Room, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

_The four fiery servants and the familiar leering face of the Portender appeared before them in a torrential, emblazoned hurricane. The first flame spawn reared its flickering head toward Maggie, causing her to stumble backwards into Jordan’s arms as his arm suffered massive 3 rd degree burns, causing her to lose her head entirely as he screamed in agony. In their haste to aid Maggie and Jordan, Wyatt and Harry orbed atop each other in the chaos, as Macy tried using her telekinesis to lift the curio off its hinges to impede the fire spawn’s path and that of the Portender, inadvertently knocking Phoebe unconscious. Mel and Piper were at opposite ends of the room, attempting to use their immobilization techniques to freeze the flames; realizing their efforts were in vain, they simultaneously attempted to freeze the Portender, but their angles were such that they unintentionally froze each other in the process._

_3:50 pm, Living Room, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

_“Bloody hell,”_ Harry muttered once the simulation ended, surveying the groaning, exhausted motley crew before him. “We’ve _certainly_ got our work cut out for us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OG Charmed Powers:  
> https://charmed.fandom.com/wiki/The_Charmed_Ones  
> Charmed Reboot Powers:  
> https://charmed-reboot.fandom.com/wiki/The_Charmed_Ones  
> OG Charmed Quote Sources:  
> http://www.alyssa-j-milano.com/phoebe_quotes.html  
> https://quotecatalog.com/communicator/piper-halliwell


	31. TFB: Bell, Book, & Candle

31 TFB: Bell, Book, & Candle

“ _Every time I see your face/When I have to pray/I need a bell, book and candle/To keep your ghost away”_

-Eddie Reader, song “Bell, Book, & Candle”

_3 pm, Next Day, Simulation #2, Living Room, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

_The four fiery servants and the familiar leering face of the Portender appeared before them in a torrential, emblazoned hurricane. Understanding immobilization to be impossible, Mel and Piper stood still next to each other as Matilda froze the roaring flames. Her path became impeded by two flame spawn; Wyatt attempted to reach her by orbing but was instantly knocked back with 2 nd degree burns, screaming in pain. Jordan’s fire extinguisher nozzle failed to act in time—_

“And that’s—” Harry checked his phone. “Five minutes to the dot, consumed by flames, one and all—”

The Vera-Chase-Valensi-Halliwell group groaned aloud, Wyatt massaging his neck from the earlier strain. _The flames felt so real…_

_3:30 pm, Living Room, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

Piper, Phoebe, and Paige sipped their berry-flavored sparkling water as Mel took her third cup of coffee for the day. “What have we learned from the second simulation?” began Harry in what Macy recognized as his ‘professor voice.’

“Fire bad, immobilization good?” Matilda sarcastically retorted as others bit back laughs.

“This is _not_ funny in the least—” Harry breathed. “I need each and _every—”_ he glared at Maggie, who slowly put her phone down, “—one of you to treat this as a real scenario—”

“Since you asked,” Piper called out, “Matilda’s powers work, but we need more time—”

“And _fire protection,_ ” added Jordan, as everyone nodded in agreement.

Harry glanced pointedly at Macy. _Are you thinking what I’m thinking?_ And suddenly it dawned on her. “I’ll be back—” and with that, she grabbed her purse and strode out the patio door to her she-shed.

“Where’s she going?” Piper asked to no one in particular.

“An obstetrician friend of ours,” Harry replied as he waved his hand around the simulation crystal once more.

“Isn’t she a little old to get pregnant?” replied Piper, who yelped as Phoebe kicked her under the coffee table.

“Don’t mind my sister,” Phoebe sweetly smiled at the rest. “ _You were saying?”_

_5:30 pm, Simulation #5, Living Room, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

_The four fiery servants and the familiar leering face of the Portender appeared before them in a torrential, emblazoned hurricane. Understanding immobilization to be impossible, Mel and Piper aligned themselves next to each other as Matilda froze the roaring flames and Jordan extinguished them in her wake as she made a beeline for the Portender himself. Macy distracted the remaining two flame spawn by dropping heavy metal candlesticks, conducting electricity, momentarily distracting them. Noticing Matilda slowing down due to a rapid energy drain, Wyatt orbed next to her, but it was too late—_

_6 pm, Living Room, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

“What did we learn?” Harry asked once more, feeling as though he’d run barefoot through a forest fire.

“We need more fire extinguishers,” muttered Wyatt from where he was sprawled across the floor, his eyes closed.

“And _we_ ,” Phoebe pointed at herself and Maggie, “need stuff to do—” but instead of agreeing, Maggie abruptly left, racing upstairs and slamming the door to her bedroom. Jordan made as if to follow, but Piper stopped him.

“Jordan,” Piper spoke softly. “When you find out your ex-boyfriend is a full-fledged monster and then you have to vanquish him, a little alone time is in order.” He sat back down, still looking concerned.

“I’ll go talk to her,” Phoebe piped up. “If there’s anyone that could understand, it’s me.”

_6:15 pm, Maggie’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

Maggie heard a knock at the door. “I’m ok—you don’t have to come in—”

The door swung open anyways. _Jordan? No_. _Phoebe. But why?_

“Are you sure?” Phoebe sat on Maggie’s bed as Maggie scooted over to make room for her, wiping her tears.

“ _I feel so stupid,”_ whispered Maggie. “How could I have not known Parker would become a monster? I feel so guilty about Portender—who Parker’s become—”

“Don’t be,” Phoebe answered. “If there’s anything I’ve learned, there’s such thing as free will. You can choose to be good just as much as one can choose to be evil. Parker chose, and he chose wrong.”

Maggie gave a curt nod as she attempted deep breathing exercises to calm herself down. Noticing this, Phoebe reached in her pocket for her phone and turned on a slow, haunting, unfamiliar tune.

“Who’s singing? I’ve never heard that song before,” said Maggie.

Phoebe gave a slight smile. “Eddie Reader, “Bell, Book, & Candle”—listened to it every night when I was getting over Cole. Helped with my anxiety.”

Together, the pair listened to the lilting melody permeate their surroundings, with the lyrics “ _I need a bell, book and candle/To keep your ghost away…”_ drifting through the air.

_6:30 pm, Maggie’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

“You seem smart,” Maggie spoke after the song had ended. “You don’t sound like someone who’s made a ton of mistakes—I see your advice column every week in the Seattle Times—”

Phoebe laughed so hard she nearly cried. Between gasps, she replied. “If you _only_ knew…I mean, I’ve been through the wringer enough to fill _ten_ Book of Shadows.”

Maggie raised an eyebrow. “ _Really?_ ”

Phoebe took a sharp intake of breath. “Here goes my life story in a nutshell, I guess. Never had a problem meeting men, lots of problems finding the wrong ones. _One_ in particular—”

“Who?” Maggie asked curiously. “Do my sisters and I know him?”

Phoebe shook her head. “We vanquished him back in 2010. His name was Cole Turner, and for awhile, he was mine…”

_6:40 pm, Maggie’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

“Cole was born Benjamin Turner in 1885—”

“Oh, an old soul like Harry?” Maggie piped up.

Phoebe made as if to speak, then paused, collecting her thoughts. “Yes…and _no_. Mortal father, evil mother. Alias _Belthazor_. He was raised to be evil, and he chose to be evil—”

“But if he’s so evil, why did you fall for him?” Maggie’s doe-eyes surveyed Phoebe carefully. _I mean, it’s a legitimate question, right?_

“I always had a thing for lawyers,” Phoebe sighed. “He was investigating Darryl Morris’ attack, and I took one look at him—and I _knew_ …”

“ _Like I did with Parker,”_ Maggie murmured, and Phoebe nodded.

“ _Exactly_.”

_6:45 pm, Maggie’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

“Lemme get this straight—he faked being immobilized, killed someone in front of you, _and_ tried to steal the Book of Shadows? _Twice_? Woman, that’s not a red flag, that’s a fucking _marquee_!” exclaimed Maggie.

“I know…believe me, _I know_. Hindsight’s always 20/20.”

“Then what happened? After he tried to steal the Book of Shadows?” Maggie couldn’t help but ask.

“He was injured, faked his death, turned out to be alive, close to immortal _even_. Things were, on the surface, _perfect_ though. We planned a wedding—”

Maggie nearly stopped breathing upon hearing Phoebe’s last sentence. “ _So did we._ ” She fiddled with her striped blanket then glanced at Phoebe. “Did Cole try to use blue apples too?”

Phoebe appeared puzzled. “Blue… _apples?”_

Maggie shook her head. “Never mind,” as Phoebe continued her tale.

“He tricked me into a dark binding ceremony, and I…” Phoebe wondered whether she ought to add the last bit on her mind. “I fell victim to a coerced evil pregnancy.”

“I’m _so_ sorry,” Maggie began, her mouth agape. _Phoebe had it far worse than she possibly could have imagined._

“Don’t be,” she replied. “It all…resolved itself in the end.”

“ _How_?” inquired Maggie, despite herself.

“Transference and ultimately, destruction,” answered Phoebe, staring at a blank space between Maggie’s makeup mirror and the window. “The being planted wasn’t mine to begin with, so it wasn’t actually a confirmed human pregnancy—”

“Wow…and I thought _I_ had it rough begging an anti-choice pharmacy tech for the morning-after pill—”

“ _Yeah._ The things women survive, I swear,” Phoebe and Maggie regarded each other with newfound understanding.

_6:50 pm, Maggie’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

“With how much you hold inside, you should be a lethal weapon by now,” Phoebe remarked, as they stood and made for the door.

“I _wish_ —” Maggie began. “As for Cole—after all that—how did you heal?”

“Slowly and painfully, my dear,” replied Phoebe. “I unleashed my inner wild child and fled to Hong Kong and Jason. I mean, everyone’s got their way of coping.”

“Yeah…” Maggie recalled the time she spread a green poultice up her arm, causing her feelings and powers to be temporarily removed. “Some healthier than others. Did you find love, after Cole?”

“Cooper. Or, should I say, _Cupid._ A gift from the Elders themselves—” a certain glow appeared on Phoebe’s visage as she recalled the love of her life, waiting for her back home with their kids and grandkids.

“ _No way,_ ” breathed Maggie. “The Elders _we_ knew didn’t want _anyone_ doing the dirty-nasty—"

“Yeah, it surprised me too, they were up in arms with Piper and Leo, something about a severe power imbalance—”

_6:54 pm, Staircase, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

“ _Huh,”_ muttered Maggie, as they closed her bedroom door and went down the stairs together.

“And later, our three were born,” Phoebe finished. “P.J, Parker, and Peyton. You got kids?”

“No—not yet,” Maggie admitted. “No luck so far. I’m forty-ish and it’s probably too late—"

Phoebe held Maggie’s shoulder to balance themselves on the stair and jolted—

_A small dark-haired girl ran about what she recognized as Vera Manor, as two adoring parents looked on—one with a frizzy-haired goatee, the other with dark tresses. Maggie. The girl giggled and showed a hand-drawn picture of what looked to be her family. All three of them—_

“You ok, Phoebs?” asked Maggie, feeling the woman tense.

Phoebe slyly grinned. “I’m fine. Jordan’s sweet—you guys look _so_ cute together.” They landed on the bottommost step. “Oh, and _never say never_.” She winked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cole Turner: https://charmed.fandom.com/wiki/Cole_Turner
> 
> Inspired by "Bell, Book and Candle" song by Eddie Reader:  
> https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=ny7GHeWUWiM
> 
> Note: "Bell, Book, and Candle" was featured in OG Charmed Season 4, Episode 1


	32. TFB: An Honesty Candle Catharsis

32 TFB: An Honesty Candle Catharsis

_“But I see in you what I see in myself/Written in the marrow of my bones…”_

-Kimbra, song “Human”

_7 pm, One Weekend Later, Living Room, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

After a meal of roast chicken, steak frites, and mushy peas ( _Harry’s personal favorite),_ both sets of Charmed Ones and their families reconvened in the living room to strategize further. Their simulated attempt earlier that day of vanquishing Portender and the four flame minions had been fruitless, mostly due to the lack of fire-resistance.

Paige’s phone suddenly buzzed, its ringtone The Smiths’ “How Soon Is Now,” as she unlocked her phone. “Sorry guys, I gotta take this,” as she orbed to the backyard garden.

“We’ve got _every_ weapon in our arsenal,” Maggie remarked, “but it’s no use if we get melted every time—”

“Yeah, Aunt Maggie’s right,” Matilda chimed in. “Aunt Mel, isn’t there a potion or something for this?” Mel shook her head.

“I wish there were, but fire is not a typical substance we deal with—that’s mostly an “evil creature” thing. We on the other hand, deal with sparkles, green glows, smoky…” Mel sighed. “If only…” _And where on earth was Macy?_

_7:02 pm, Vera Manor Garden, Seattle, Washington_

Paige’s eyes bugged out. “Rose did _WHAT_ on Twitter?” she shrieked. “ _What the fork does that even mean—”_ she rolled her eyes. _Media broadcast standards still following her, even after all these years._ “Ok, Jennie, how much damage control do I need to do?” Paige listened to a stream of consoling words that flew a mile a minute as she alternated between nodding her head and inserting a word here and there. She always made an effort to travel between alternate universes; her Whitelighter-witch duality often meant she was shepherded, however reluctantly, into various forms of diplomacy. “When do you need me?” Paige paused and listened. “ _Now?_ But I’m in the middle of—” more words ensued, “I _know_ —ok fine—I’ll be there ASAP—” she ended the conversation, and screamed in sheer frustration—

“Everything ok there?” Paige whirled around. _Macy._

“ _Um_ —just life— _complications—_ ” Paige managed to reply. _How long had Macy been eavesdropping?_

As if Macy read her mind, she replied, “I won’t tell a soul. Also, I come bearing gifts,” indicating a large duffel bag next to her. “Help me bring them in?” Paige nodded and reached for one of the duffel bag’s straps as Macy reached for the other, orbing directly into the living room.

_7:07 pm, Living Room, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

“From Nedra,” Macy told Harry by way of explanation. “Fire-proof full-body suits—” she held one silvery, reflective spandex-like number, which shone, sparkling, _glitterati_ -like.

“ _Ooooh,_ they’re pretty!” Phoebe squealed, as Piper frowned.

“Macy, how do we know these work?” she inquired.

“They’re from a trusted friend who tested its use—” Macy began.

“On _herself_ , might I add,” interjected Harry.

“Oh. Oh _my,_ ” Piper breathed. “ _Ok then_.”

“I suggest we each grab a suit, put it on, then meet back here in ten minutes. _Capiche?_ ” Jordan made eye contact with every single member present.

_7:20 pm, Living Room, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

Everyone returned wearing a sparkling coverall suit, exclaiming over its comfortable fit and the sleek embedded soles under one’s feet. “Everyone good?” Jordan called out, wearing a full-body suit of his own; all responded in the affirmative as Harry put a hand over the simulation crystal once more.

_7:21 pm, Simulation #10, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

_Instead of flames, grey snow-capped mountain peaks rose high above them as they stared in awe of the magnificent splendor, though realizing this was likely a psychological distraction to keep them from their mission. Macy silently gestured, causing the mountains to swiftly collapse, crumbling inward upon itself as the entourage jumped for cover—_

_And then they found themselves tumbling back into Vera Manor’s attic, lit with roaring flames along the windowsill, as Mel gasped in horror. The surviving oldest of the former Charmed Ones was in a large birdcage-like iron prison and was none too thrilled about it. “Let’s get this straight. You guys summoned me to a cage where my powers don’t work, so we can all die together?” Piper shouted indignantly, as Paige and Phoebe ran to her side to attempt various enchantments to free her._

_“It’s a ruse!” Wyatt screamed, as the four minions and the Portender slammed open the attic door. “Everyone to their places!”_

_Maggie began her pathokinesis toward the three flame minions (A, B, C, D), two of which (C and D) began viciously pummeling each other while B attacked A, distracting A enough so that Matilda could successfully vanquish it. One down, three to go. Macy employed telekinesis to obstruct the Portender’s path, aided by Paige at turns. At this point, Mel began inserting herself near Jordan, sprinkling a mixture of powders and potions to confuse the opposing forces while Paige telekinetically stripped all of the minions’ weapons, tossing them to both sets of the Charmed Ones. B was soon vanquished, while C and D continued to fight each other to the death. Matilda snuck up on both and successfully ended them, leaving just one more. The Portender. Who apparently had enough power to turn into a blue-colored flame when provoked. Matilda made to immobilize him, but her powers, having long since been depleted, were of no use—_

_7:31 pm, Living Room, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

“Ten minutes! And— _time_ ,” Harry called out, retrieving his phone’s stopwatch. “I have to say, that’s _certainly_ an improvement from earlier,” he remarked referencing their nine prior failed simulation attempts that involved early incineration. “What have we learned this time around?” He peered around the room, surveying the huddled mass of people clutching their foreheads in pain.

“I hate cages,” Piper muttered, as Macy resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“ _Right then_ ,” Harry paused. “Anything else?”

“Nedra’s suits really work—” Phoebe and Paige chimed in. Harry beamed.

“Was hoping that would be the case—” replied Harry.

“This is kinda like contact sports—” Jordan started.

“ _Bingo!_ ” exclaimed Harry. “This entire setup reads like an American football match—or what I imagine one to be,” he said.

“So basically, we have to keep an eye on the opposing team, tail them, drive ‘em nuts?” Jordan asked.

“ _Exactly._ ”

_7:45 pm, Living Room, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

“But what about the Portender?” Mel spoke up. “We defeated four minions but fell to the Portender—”

“Ah, but that’s _easy_ ,” replied Harry.

“In what sense?” Matilda frowned, her brow furrowed. “I used up all my energy by the time we got to him, we’re basically sitting ducks—”

“That’s where Phoebe and Piper come in, isn’t it?” Wyatt interjected. “The dual power of three, right?”

“You might give Maggie a run for her money, because _you just read my mind_ ,” Harry grinned as he threw a corny joke, much to the groans of all present. “I would recommend, besides leveraging the dual power of three for the Portender, that Phoebe use her precognition skills pre-attack so we’re not caught— _ahem—_ unawares _,_ ” he pointedly glanced in Piper’s direction. “I doubt we’d be able to kill the Portender if a third of the original Charmed Ones is in an enchanted birdcage.”

“But _that’s not fair!”_ Piper indignantly cried out. “Pre-simulation, I was totally ready to meet the monster—how’s it _my_ fault I got locked up before I got in the game?”

“A simple invisibility potion could’ve avoided that,” Harry answered. “I’d suggest you get the recipe from Mel. She knows a thing or two about covert surveillance.” _Burn._

Piper crossed her arms and grumbled something involving the word _“men.”_

“Piper— _look._ You were born a Charmed One. _We all were_. And I think we better start learning to deal with that,” Macy spoke finally, addressing Piper, Paige, Phoebe, and both of her sisters in turn.

“You don’t think I know that?” Piper shouted. “I have to deal with _these_ two,” pointing at Phoebe and Paige both of whom expressed outrage, “as if that weren’t hard enough—” as Paige threw her finished can of sparkling water at the wall in a fury, which bounced off and hit Phoebe in the face, igniting a full-on spar as the current Charmed Ones and their families stared in silence.

 _“ENOUGH!”_ Maggie bellowed, slamming her long, thin Empathic Staff on the floor, causing a reverberating echo that shook the overhead chandelier. “Book nook. _NOW._ ”

_8 pm, Book Nook, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

Maggie lit a purple-glowing candle as Piper, Phoebe, and Paige sat around. “What’s _that?_ ” asked Piper.

“An honesty candle,” answered Maggie. “I’m a psychologist—it comes in handy in the work I do—”

“ _Therapy?_ ” Phoebe blurted out. “Is this an intervention? _This is nuts—this can’t be happening, right?_ her eyes implored Maggie’s, as Maggie nodded.

“I think it’s time you three got your issues out in the open before we do anything involving open combat,” Harry stated matter-of-factly, and the three seated witches fell silent.

“Everyone’s going to go around and state their feelings,” said Maggie. “Piper, what’s bugging you?”

“This mission—having to deal with my sisters, in combat— _again,_ ” Piper spat angrily.

“What about your sisters?” Maggie gently guided the conversation. “Piper and Paige, I mean—have they done something to offend?”

Piper was unused to such directness and paused. “N-no,” she answered. “I guess…” she felt her tongue loosen. _The honesty candle._ “I’m angry that for all Phoebe’s premonition powers, she couldn’t save Andy. _Or Prue._ ”

 _Ok, we’re getting somewhere_ , Maggie thought to herself, taking mental notes. “Anything else you’d like to add, Piper?”

“ _Paige._ I don’t _hate_ her, she’s really sweet, means well, but…” she hesitated, trying to iron out her thoughts. “ _She’s not Prue,_ ” as a sob overtook her. “I’m _so_ angry at Prue for leaving us—for leaving _me_ as the responsible one. Paige…heaven knows she’s tried, but… _she’s not Prue. I know it, and she knows it. Prue should be here too…it’s not fair—”_ Piper began crying, unable to stop, as her sisters rubbed her back sympathetically.

“Phoebe, what about you?” Maggie continued, inquiring after the curly-haired witch with doe-like eyes.

“Piper drives me forking crazy with her neuroticism,” Phoebe immediately answered as she felt an odd warmth prickling at her cerebral column. “Truth be told though…not gonna lie…I’m jealous of her too—” she paused as she gazed over at her sister Piper, still sobbing uncontrollably. “I’m jealous of her ability to freeze time and space—and here _I_ am—a county fair thrill—spitting out fortunes that might or might not come true—”

“Oh, _Phoebe_ ,” Piper lifted her head to glance over at her sister. “You _know_ that’s not true—your premonitions saved _so_ many lives—"

“I know,” murmured Phoebe. “But sometimes, I feel so… _insignificant_.”

“And you, Paige?” Maggie arrived at the last original Charmed One. “What about you?”

Paige subconsciously twirled a lock of her auburn hair, now streaked with silver. “My persona across dimensions has been driving me _batty_ recently, and there’s nothing I can do about it. My attention’s split across that _and_ this Portender dude. And I feel… _inferior._ Because I _know_ I’m not Prue,” her lip quivered. “I’ve never met her, she sounds goddess-level amazing, and I feel like whatever I do, it’ll _never_ be enough, no matter how hard I try. If I could switch places, if that were even the slightest bit possible, I would, but— _I can’t._ It’s not possible. Prue’s dead, and I’ve lived in her shadow for several decades,” as a tear fell on her alabaster cheek, which she hastily wiped away. “ _I-I’m sorry_ ,” she stammered. “I’ve never really admitted that out loud. _Ever._ ”

“Paige, we’re _so_ sorry,” the other two sisters crowded around their red-haired sister, hugging at turns as Macy covertly passed around a tissue box.

_8:30 pm, Hidden Chamber Behind Book Nook, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

Just then, Maggie had a premonition— _the open chamber_ —and fell back to reality a mere millisecond later. She motioned for the three to stand and each remove a book from the bookshelf in front of them. The moment Piper, Phoebe, and Paige had done so, a secret door caused the bookshelf to swing open, revealing a hidden chamber. “After _you_ ,” she motioned the original Charmed Ones, who gaped in surprise.

“What _is_ this place?” marveled Phoebe aloud.

“A place of weapons and… _reckoning_ ,” Maggie casually remarked. “I’ll be outside the bookshelf in case you need anything,” she called out, as she closed the door behind her.

_8:40 pm, Hidden Chamber, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

“What’s supposed to happen?” muttered Piper to Phoebe and Paige. The two shrugged, then—suddenly—a beam of light shone in the chamber’s center.

 _A glowing figure appeared,_ as they gasped aloud and began to tear up once more.

_Prudence Halliwell._

“Sisters,” her ethereal, holographic voice began, “these are terrible times. Disease and pestilence have, once again, overpowered the world as humanity seeks to achieve enlightenment in the most corrupt and immoral of ways.” She surveyed their visages closely. “But you, along with the Charmed Ones whose house you entered, have the power to defeat evil and bring safety, health, and happiness to humanity once more. It’s not easy. I know I’m not there—I wish with all my heart I were. You must defeat the forces of evil once more— _do it for the power of three._ ”

_A second glowing figure appeared._

“I’m the mother of Macy, Mel, and Maggie, the current Charmed Ones,” the beautiful dark-haired figure pronounced. “And I second Prue’s statement, adding only two pieces. One, in the words of Pablo Neruda, “the darkest night is often the bridge to the brightest tomorrow.” _I have full faith and confidence in the dual power of three._ Two, as I’ve often told my own daughters, you’re better together, your differences are your strengths, and nothing is stronger than your sisterhood. Nurture that.”

Piper, Phoebe, and Paige nodded silently as Marisol continued. “Even though this is a weapons chamber, I have no weapons to provide.”

“The best and greatest weapon,” added Prue, “is the bond of your sisterhood, in the battle between good and evil. Be the women I know you’re meant to be. Make me proud?” she ended, and the three present assented. _We will._

And just like that, the two figures vanished. The trio walked back up to the hidden door and exited the hidden chamber, wiser for the experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The OG Charmed theme song is The Smiths’ “How Soon Is Now”
> 
> Jennie Snyder Urman is the producer and creator of Charmed 2018 reboot: https://charmed-reboot.fandom.com/wiki/Jennie_Snyder_Urman
> 
> From OG Charmed 2008 (Unaired Pilot): "You were born a Charmed One. We all were. And I think we better start learning to deal with that." -Phoebe Halliwell
> 
> From Charmed 2018 (Premiere Episode): “You're better together, your differences are your strengths, and nothing is stronger than your sisterhood. Nurture that.” -Marisol Vera


	33. TFB: The Final Battle

33 TFB: The Final Battle

“ _I put my armor on, show you how strong how I am/I put my armor on, I'll show you that I am/I'm unstoppable”_

 _-_ Sia, song “Unstoppable”

_5 pm, Simulation, Day Before Final Battle, April 5 th, 2046, Living Room, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

_It was Phoebe who provided the warning, having had a premonition. Everyone had taken to wearing their fireproof full-body suits at all times. Piper ingested the potion Mel provided, which instantly rendered herself temporarily invisible. The four fiery servants and the familiar leering face of the Portender appeared before them in a torrential, emblazoned hurricane. The first flame spawn reared its flickering head but was frozen in place by Matilda’s spur-of-the-moment pyro-immobilization. Meanwhile, Maggie began her pathokinesis toward the three flame minions (A, B, C, D), two of which (C and D) began viciously pummeling each other while B attacked A, distracting A enough so that Matilda could successfully vanquish it. One down, three to go._

_Macy employed telekinesis to obstruct the Portender’s path, aided by Paige at turns. At this point, Mel began inserting herself near Jordan, sprinkling a mixture of powders and potions to confuse the opposing forces while Paige telekinetically stripped all of the minions’ weapons with Piper’s dexterous assistance, tossing them to both sets of the Charmed Ones. B was soon vanquished, while C and D continued to fight each other to the death. Matilda snuck up on both and successfully ended them, leaving just one more. The Portender. Who apparently had enough power to turn into a blue-colored flame when provoked. Matilda made to immobilize him, but her powers, having long since been depleted, were of no use—_

_But both sets of Charmed Ones mobilized together, creating a force field large enough to engulf and capture the Portender, with an enchantment strong enough to imprison him in a nearby object—looking around, Wyatt noticed a rather chic postmodern Ming vase laying around and orbed to retrieve it as Mel and the others continued chanting. He threw the vase in the center as the Portender was trapped within, bellowing in all its anger as it found itself immobilized in its ceramic-lined prison…_

“Harry, what’s your verdict?” asked Macy, as everyone found themselves back in the cozy confines of Vera Manor’s living room.

“I think…we’re finally ready,” Harry stated, much to the relief of all.

_8 pm, Vera Manor Garden, Seattle, Washington_

Wyatt and Matilda sat outside by themselves after dinner, surrounded by the glow of the trellised Vera Manor Garden tealights; on a whim, she reached for her phone and played an Astrid S. cover song, “If the World Was Ending.” “A New Zealand singer,” she said by way of explanation. “Reminds me of—”

“Camp Wanaka?” Wyatt completed the sentence. She nodded.

“Dance with me, Wyatt?”

“ _With pleasure.”_

They slowly rose to their feet as the melody began, Matilda’s hand outstretched as Wyatt took it gently in his own, as her other hand cradled his shoulder.

 _“But if the world was ending, you’d come over, right?/You’d come over and you’d stay the night…”_ Astrid’s voice crooned as the two glided across the makeshift brick cobblestone outdoor dance floor, Matilda’s curly-haired visage nestled into the crook of Wyatt’s neck, wondering what it would be like had they grown up in a different time—a _safer_ time—a more _normal_ time—where all they had to do was have a day job, the closest thing to drama being two people wearing the same designer dress to a high-profile office party.

 _“Would you love me for the hell of it?”_ they swung each other around slowly, Wyatt savoring the touch of Matilda’s tapered fingers upon his own, the scent of her curls intermingled with his own, and wondered why this moment couldn’t last just a bit longer.

They were going into battle, _here_ , at Vera Manor, with no guarantee of survival, no matter how many simulations they managed to do. All they could do was hope for the best. And Matilda knew, deep down, that sometimes doing one’s best just wasn’t good enough. She witnessed Maggie’s intervention earlier with Piper, Phoebe, and Paige, and how heartbroken they were over their missing sister who should have been fighting alongside them this entire time. _Could that be my mom? Aunt Mel? Aunt Maggie? Would this tear our entire family in two?_

 _“The sky’d be falling and I’d hold you tight”_ Astrid’s lilting voice continued on its dark apocalyptic themes as Matilda tilted her visage upward to meet Wyatt’s own, a tear falling onto her cheek as Wyatt tenderly kissed it away.

“ _I’m scared,”_ Matilda whispered.

“Me too,” replied Wyatt. “At the same time, we’re surrounded by family who love us, and our lives have led up to this moment. We have firsthand knowledge and ways of fighting pure evil—not everyone’s nearly so lucky.”

“Lucky?” Matilda laughed, her curls flying about as she shook her head. “ _Lucky?”_

“Our powers, I mean,” Wyatt clarified. “There aren’t a lot of us out there. As Peter Parker once said, “with great privilege comes great responsibility.” It’s up to us, y’know?”

“I know. Doesn’t make it any easier though,” Matilda responded softly.

“Val,” Wyatt paused as the music reached its end. “After all this is over…would you consider marrying me?”

Matilda tilted her head. _Was he serious?_ After detecting earnestness in his eyes, she bit her lip flirtatiously. “How ‘bout conquering Portender and his minions first, _then_ let’s chat?”

He grinned. “Sounds like a plan.”

_4:06 pm, The Final Battle, April 6 th, 2046, Living Room, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

It was Phoebe who provided the warning, having had a premonition at noon. _The blue lapis lazuli shellacked features of the Portender as he cackled aloud, surrounded by his flame servants—his minions—as her vision swerved to the nearest analog clock, which read 4:06 pm on the dot._

Everyone had taken to wearing their fireproof full-body suits at a quarter past one—Piper, Phoebe, Paige, Macy, Matilda, Mel, Maggie, Harry, Jordan, Wyatt. _We’ve got this,_ Matilda told herself. _We can do this, we can do this, we can do this—_ as she watched Jordan recheck the multiple fire extinguisher canisters then providing two thumbs-up. _All systems ready to go._ Mel uttered hydro-electric enchantments and protection wards to prevent the Portender and his minions from entering anywhere other than the living room.

Piper ingested the potion Mel provided, rendering herself temporarily invisible. Her camouflaged self hovered on the outskirts of the Vera Manor living room, armed to the teeth with various kitchen implements as the need became necessary. _A couple of well-chosen stainless-steel what-have-yous._

The four fiery servants and the familiar leering face of the Portender appeared before them in a torrential, emblazoned hurricane. “ _Matilda,”_ the smirking Portender stepped forward slowly. _There was, after all, no rush._ “Surrender now and join _me_ in the quest for power—"

“Never!” Matilda cried.

“Then you give me no choice!” the Portender snarled as he snapped his fingers, calling the four flame persons to attention, their fingers miniature, flickering flames that shimmered ominously.

As Matilda long since suspected, the flame minions had the ability to set everything aflame and divide and re-convene at a whim, but she wouldn’t give them that opportunity. Mel and Piper had collaborated earlier that morning on a fire-proof fire protection spell; while it wouldn’t very long, Matilda was certain that it would at least linger for the duration of the battle itself. Doing so would avoid prying non-magical eyes and unwanted paparazzi attention.

The first flame spawn reared its flickering head but was frozen in place by Matilda’s spur-of-the-moment pyro-immobilization. Meanwhile, Maggie began her pathokinesis toward the three flame minions (A, B, C, D), two of which (C and D) began viciously pummeling each other while B attacked A, distracting A enough so that Matilda could successfully vanquish it. One down, three to go, as Wyatt orbed around, extinguishing stray bursts of flames alongside Jordan.

Macy employed telekinesis to obstruct the Portender’s path, aided by Paige at turns. At this point, Mel began inserting herself near Jordan, sprinkling a mixture of powders and potions to confuse the opposing forces while Paige telekinetically stripped all of the minions’ weapons with Piper’s dexterous assistance, tossing them to both sets of the Charmed Ones. B was soon vanquished, while C and D continued to fight each other to the death. Matilda snuck up on both and successfully ended them, leaving just one more.

 _The Portender._ Who apparently had enough power to turn into a blue-colored flame when provoked. Matilda made to immobilize him, but her powers, having long since been depleted, were of no use, as the Portender lodged a flaming dagger—when suddenly a petite figure materialized, screaming, “ _NOT MY NIECE, YOU BASTARD!”_ shoving Matilda out of the way, absorbing the brunt of his force. _Aunt Abigael,_ Matilda realized with a shock.

“ _No, NO, NO!”_ she cried as she saw her aunt’s limp body on the living room floor.

_4:20 pm, The Final Battle, April 6 th, 2046, Kitchen, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

“ _LET GO OF ME!”_ Matilda screamed, realizing then that Harry, her father, had orbed her out of the living room for her own safety.

“ _Tilly_ ,” Harry placed a hand on her shoulder as she found herself in the kitchen. “I need you to stand guard here—make sure none of Portender and his minions infiltrate the rest of Vera Manor. _I need you to stay calm._ ” Matilda made as if to protest, but Harry shushed her with an uncharacteristically somber expression. “You’ve done _magnificently_ , darling, now its up to mummy and her sisters to finish the job.” Matilda nodded, gulping back tears as Harry affectionately kissed his daughter’s forehead, orbing back into the chaos of the living room leaving her alone in the shadows of the incandescent lamplight.

_4:22 pm, The Final Battle, April 6 th, 2046, Living Room, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

Both sets of Charmed Ones mobilized together, creating a force field large enough to engulf and capture the Portender, with an enchantment strong enough to imprison him in a nearby object—looking around, Wyatt spotted a Grecian-style Wedgwood blue _Horner’ English Toffee Tin_ which Jordan tossed to him as Mel and the others continued chanting.

_The Dual Power of Three we now decree,_

_Timor est virtus feminae_

_The Dual Power of Three will set you free,_

_quod sint vobis in ultimum finem._

_The Dual Power of Three will destroy thee!_

_Tu miedo es la fuerza de la mujer_

_Your fear is the strength of women_

_que será tu fin último._

_which will be your ultimate end._

_The Dual Power of Three we now decree,_

_The Dual Power of Three will set you free,_

_The Dual Power of Three will destroy thee!_

When Phoebe gave him the signal, Wyatt threw the opened, empty toffee tin in the center of the dual Charmed Ones’ circle as the Portender became trapped within, bellowing in anger as it found itself immobilized in its ceramic-lined prison…

_4:30 pm, Recovery Scene, April 6 th, 2046, Kitchen, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

After ensuring all fire minions were successfully vanquished ( _they were),_ and that the Portender was completely sealed within the English toffee tin ( _he was),_ Mel unsealed the living room as everyone poured into the kitchen, making way for Macy, Wyatt, and Harry who carried a limp Abigael, laying her body on the floor.

“ _Heal her,_ Harry!” screamed Macy, who continued to kneel at Abigael’s side.

“Macy, love,” he said with tears in his eyes. “ _She’s already gone.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Partly inspired by Sia's "Unstoppable" song
> 
> OG Charmed Warlock Spell: https://charmed.fandom.com/wiki/The_Power_of_Three_Spell
> 
> Charmed Reboot Taydeus Spell (English and Spanish in fanfic): https://charmed-reboot.fandom.com/wiki/Taydeus_Vanquishing_Spell#:~:text=The%20Taydeus%20Vanquishing%20Spell%20is,with%20the%20Power%20of%20Three.
> 
> Grecian Wedgwood English Toffee Tin: https://www.google.com/search?q=grecian+wedgwood+english+toffee+tin&rlz=1C1SQJL_enUS889US889&sxsrf=ALeKk00bsM8-Qxpnl6Y8lT0BUr_eLjh_9A:1598279514271&tbm=isch&source=iu&ictx=1&fir=wLxXvPbRgX7hrM%252CvMVyQrfrLqVWyM%252C_&vet=1&usg=AI4_-kTJW9TgLXeUukAyP0p9WftZU1sfjw&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjQjcyVh7TrAhV7mnIEHf9SAzsQ9QEwAHoECAEQBQ#imgrc=wLxXvPbRgX7hrM


	34. TFB: A Wounded Universe

34 TFB: A Wounded Universe

“ _The Universe, she's wounded/She's still got infinity ahead of her/She's still got you and me”_

-Gregory Alan Isakov, song “The Universe”

_4:30 pm, Recovery Scene, April 6 th, 2046, Kitchen, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

After ensuring all fire minions were successfully vanquished ( _they were),_ and that the Portender was completely sealed within the English toffee tin ( _he was),_ Mel unsealed the living room as everyone poured into the kitchen, making way for Macy, Wyatt, and Harry who carried a limp Abigael, laying her body on the floor.

“ _Heal her,_ Harry!” screamed Macy, who continued to kneel at Abigael’s side.

“Macy, love,” he said with tears in his eyes. “ _She’s already gone.”_

_5 pm, Two Days Later, Abigael’s Funeral, Vera Manor Garden, Seattle, Washington_

Morgana presided over the funeral, a small-but-sublimely elegant affair befitting Abigael to a tea. Maggie had used glamour powder to create gigantic clustered pillars of silver, plum, and black begonias, gardenias, and azaleas surrounding the casket, which Mel knew her late wife would have adored if only she had been alive to see it.

Harry and Macy’s arms were around their grown children Maya, Henry, and Matilda, all of whom emerged largely unscathed by the Portender’s clutches; Mel clutched her daughter Tory’s hand, as they silently sobbed, tears pouring forth from their cheeks. Matilda glanced over at her raven-haired adoptive cousin, discovered decades ago (before Matilda had even been born) when she’d made a precocious appearance at Central Park before being taken in by Aunt Abi and Aunt Mel.

 _Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,_ Morgana’s voice continued as she presided over the memorial service, as she performed the typical traditional magical rites ushering a being into the next realm. _Given Aunt Abi had pulled a Severus Snape, what would become of her?_ Matilda couldn’t help but wonder. _Would her soul enter Tartarus due to her earlier treachery, having attacked her mom Macy upon first meeting her? Would she join the other nefarious forces in the underworld, doomed to a life in the dank-yet-fiery caverns steeped in the screams of human torment? Heaven couldn’t have been a viable option, as Abigael’s soul was far too tainted…_

Matilda glanced over at the opposite aisle, where Wyatt sat with his father Wy and his grandparents Piper and Leo. The next row from that aisle had Phoebe and Paige, all of whom bore a reverential, solemn expression for the occasion and who had, at least during the funeral, put their differences aside to unite once more. Wyatt’s eyes met hers and instead of turning away and blushing furiously, she smiled slightly—an enigmatic, Mona Lisa poignant, exhausted smile with her eyes, after which they turned back to Morgana, who had completed the rites, causing Abigael's casketed body to vanish from sight.

_5:30 pm, Abigael’s Funeral, Vera Manor Garden, Seattle, Washington_

Macy walked to the crystal quartz podium to present the eulogy; the task would have gone to Mel, but being distraught, she was unable to summon forth the effort—which was now Macy’s and Macy’s alone to bear. She smoothed her ebony floral-printed dress as she looked out at the flowery blossoms and visages before her.

“When I first met Abigael, she tried to kill me—” she began, causing a distinct hum of laughter across the garden enclave. “ _Hand-held sword,_ if my memory serves me correctly. I thought she was delusional when she said we had things in common. _Out of her gourd,_ even.” She paused to survey the funeral attendees. “But she was right.”

Macy took a breath to steady her shaking voice. “We had a lot more in common than met the eye. We were both raised by single parents, disciplinarians, who had ways of showing us they loved us, often via challenging methods we could never begin to understand. We were thrust into our powers, her by birth, mine by transfusion, that caused a great deal of complications—as well as empowerment—when used responsibly or irresponsibly alike. Her unconventional tactics, one of which involved egging on her wife, Mel, to take a Kyon Queen potion, led to us freeing creatures imprisoned against their will. _You remember that, right?_ ” she directed her question to Mel, who lifted her head, uttering a small laugh beneath her tears.

Macy continued on. “In hindsight, with her powers, if she really wanted to, Abigael could’ve killed us all. The typical Charmed Ones storyline involves vanquishing anything evil or evil-originating.” She and Piper’s eyes met as the latter made a barely perceptible nod. “But her early words were, ‘you need my help’ if I recall. To be raised with a destructive worldview and have the inner wisdom to depart from that, takes courage that most people grossly underestimate.”

“Even though we never exactly saw eye-to-eye, I think, deep down, we both wanted the same thing—an end to bloodshed, an end to constant warring battles between humans and magical creatures alike—a balance of yin and yang. Even though I didn’t realize it at the time. My judgment was… _clouded._ ” Macy recalled the moment she walked in on Abigael kissing Harry long before she herself, Macy, began dating him. 

“I never really trusted her,” Macy stated matter-of-factly. “And she would be the first to tell you she thought we three were too soft and innocent for this world. Maybe the truth lay somewhere in between. Things changed after my oldest, Maya, turned three and I was ordered bedrest by Morgana, due to being heavily pregnant with twins. Maya was just coming into her hybrid Whitelighter powers and with Harry taking care of me and various vanquishings, I worried what would become of her.”

“Abigael was pulled into my bedroom by Mel and Harry, and I was so upset that _she_ of all people would be entrusted with tutoring my child, I started a literal hailstorm outside. _A hailstorm!”_ Macy exclaimed, peering above the podium. “Can you _imagine?_ ” After a few moments, she commenced speaking once more. “Melanija chronicled this in her AO3 “Of Ginger & Spice,” and sometimes, after a long weekend of potions and combat practice, I reread those sections and mentally kick myself. _What was I thinking?_ ” She saw Melanija toss her blue highlighted hair from where she was seated at the piano, blushing shyly at having been mentioned directly.

“ _Anyways._ I’m reminded of an Emma Thompson quote. “When you need me, but do not want me then I must stay. But when you want me but no longer need me, I have to go.” Truer words were never spoken. _Farewell, my comrade-in-arms—_ ” Macy stepped down from the podium and returned to her seat, as Melanija commenced an improvisational piano piece based on Everclear’s “I Will Buy You a Garden,” the tune familiar to Mel and Tory, as Abigael had always loved to hum it under her breath every weekend when it was her turn to bake breakfast—usually crumpets, with marmalade. _“I will buy you a new life…/I will buy you a garden/Where your flowers can bloom…”_ the melody rose in complexity with a richness and sacred fervor, then changed octaves and became transposed into another harmony completely.

_7 pm, Vera Manor Garden, Seattle, Washington_

It seemed that nearly as soon as it had begun, it quickly ended. The rows of seating shifted, thanks to Harry, Wyatt, and Jordan’s quick work, into a series of small three-person tables as hors-d’oeuvres, courtesy of Piper, were passed out and nibbled on. Small plated dishes of butterflied chicken and black bean empanadas were at each table setting, coupled with sautéed mushrooms, Yorkshire pudding (doughy baked bread typically drenched with gravy), and a tureen of gravy, family-style.

“Have you thought about my question?” Matilda was about to cut into her chicken when she heard a familiar voice. _Wyatt,_ she realized as she turned around to face him, seated at her table. Maya discreetly muttered something about helping Henry clean a saucepan and departed, for which Matilda was grateful.

“ _Being?_ ” Matilda wanted him to say the words out loud, and yet it seemed too soon.

“Something about…oh, I dunno. A _proposal?”_ Wyatt inquired with an alluring raise of his eyebrow.

“ _Not so loud_!” Matilda hissed as she grabbed Wyatt’s arm as he orbed themselves inside one of Vera Manor Garden’s cavernous begonia bushes. “Besides,” she continued after taking another breath, “don’t proposals involve a ring or something?”

Wyatt paused. “Yeah,” he kissed Matilda’s forehead as he swept away a few untamed strands of her crimson curls. “They do. I might take care of that—sooner rather than later—” he murmured, half to himself.

“See that you do, _Mr. Halliwell_ ,” Matilda strode toward the mouth of the entrance as she peered over her shoulder at his form, ensconced in the darkness. “ _See that you do.”_

_7:30 pm, Vera Manor Garden, Seattle, Washington_

“I wouldn’t drink that if I were you—” Morgana began, laying a wrinkled arm on Maggie’s shoulder as the latter held a shot glass full of coquito, the coconut alcohol-infused drink her sisters were so fond of, and which seemed particularly appropriate for the occasion. Maggie’s brow furrowed in confusion as she stared at the glass, at Jordan from where he was standing with Leo and Wy, then back at Morgana. “ _Trust me on this one_.” Maggie slowly put the glass down and walked away, turning to look at Morgana from a distance, who winked at her.

_7:40 pm, Vera Manor Garden, Seattle, Washington_

“So, how _was_ the Azores?” Harry couldn’t help but ask a rather suntanned Leo.

“50% beautiful, 48% boring, with 2% sheer terror, but y’know, that’s basically life in general… _don’t tell Piper I said that though,_ ” responded Leo.

“Beautiful, as in scenery?” Jordan interjected as Leo nodded.

“Absolutely gorgeous—the palm trees, Faial Market, the fresh fruit, the works—” Leo noted. “The boring part was mainly staying sequestered in Matias’ apartment with Morgana as they bickered about their century-old divorce, then played endless rounds of gin rummy and crazy eights.”

“And the 2% sheer terror?” Harry frowned. “Was that—”

“The fire minions? Yeah…one of them, at least—it astral-projected itself, solidified, and tried to attack Morgana. Thought she’d be an easy target and all. Luckily, she had her wits about her and smashed its head with a frying pan and used enough of her own fire power to send him running back to his master.”

“ _Good God,”_ breathed Harry, trying to spot Morgana, who had already vanished with Matias through the she-shed portal back to the Azores. “Was she alright?”

“Once I healed her, she was,” Leo answered. “But best not to think about it—”

“ _Agreed_.”

_9 pm, Vera Manor Garden, Seattle, Washington_

As the crowd of Charmed Ones and their families dispersed for the evening, orbing home, Maggie and Phoebe accosted Matilda, who sat and stared up at the trellised tealights, contemplating the conversation between herself and Wyatt earlier, the Portender, and the demise of her Aunt Abigael. “How’re you holding up, sweetie?” Maggie was the first to ask.

“I dunno, everything’s happened so fast—” she paused and stared at her lap, blinking away tears. “I just wish Aunt Abi were alive. I feel like its all my fault—I know it’s not, but—”

“ _The Portender_ did this, _not you_ —” Maggie laid both of her hands on her niece’s shoulders to help remove what little mental anguish she could, to calm the young woman down. It appeared to be working as Matilda’s breathing grew less frenetic. “You saved so many lives and you were far braver than I ever could have been by myself. _And_ you brought two sets of Charmed Ones together, whether you realize it or not. That’s _huge._ Do you understand what I’m saying?” Maggie’s eyes met Matilda’s emerald own as the latter nodded and wiped away another tear.

Maggie then smiled, having detected something of a different nature in her niece’s disposition. “What’s this about needing a dress?”

“ _Um—"_ Matilda wasn’t ready to tell Maggie about Wyatt’s… _proposition_ for lack of a better term. “Wyatt and I might go dancing. _Here,_ in Vera Manor Garden. Sometime. But I don’t have anything to wear—"

Phoebe interjected. “Every Cinderella needs a fairy godmother. Let us be _yours_ ,” her large, expressive eyes entreated Matilda. 

“Okay,” whispered Matilda, as the three began scheming and dreaming once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OG Charmed, Season 4, "Marry Go Round" by Paige Matthews: "Every Cinderella needs a fairy godmother. Let us be yours."
> 
> Note from Melanija Paradis: I am indeed an improv pianist. My recent clips can be found on Instagram and Twitter ;)


	35. TFB: Cartwheels of Stars

35 TFB: Cartwheels of Stars

_“Wise men say/Only fools rush in/But I can't help falling in love with you…Like a river flows/Surely to the sea/Darling, so it goes/Some things are meant to be…”_

-Kina Grannis (cover), Elvis song “Can’t Help Falling in Love With You”

_9 pm, Vera Manor Garden, April 8 th, 2046, Seattle, Washington_

Phoebe interjected. “Every Cinderella needs a fairy godmother. Let us be _yours_ ,” her large, expressive eyes entreated Matilda. 

“Okay,” whispered Matilda, as the three began scheming and dreaming once more.

_10 am, Two Weekends Later, Matilda’s Bedroom, Madalena Village, Epicenter Pico No. 23_

Her eyes blinked once, then twice, absorbing the humid sunlight streaming in through her balcony window, the pungent scent of cilantro, cinnamon, cloves, and plumeria wafting in from her relative’s balcony. _Had it really been two weeks since the fearsome Portender had been successfully vanquished, bringing both sets of Charmed Ones together in the process? Indeed it had_ , she mused to herself as she rubbed the crocheted dark olive green coverlet with the tips of her toes, rolling herself to a seated position on her goldenrod-colored bedsheets that had been a fixture in her bedroom for as long as she could remember, its cheery color brightening the pallid walls.

The plants—all five of them—from the tallest two-foot zebra-like leaves to the tiniest, her pineapple-leaf succulent—were at the foot of her bed, as if nothing had happened at all. Two weekends ago, she had found herself at her aunt’s funeral, mourning her loss with the rest of the clan. After, Wyatt had promised he would put forth the effort to plan a proposal worth her time, with the implicit assumption that the dust needed to settle a bit in order for things to properly progress.

Both had taken two weeks’ worth of leave from their roles at Purgatory Corporation in the aftermath. Matilda had previously taken for granted seeing Wyatt daily during her morning commute from Gateway Station, walking past the artwork in the nearby park, traversing Stanwix, and ending up on the 88th floor, just in time for the morning’s agenda meeting. Her heart was often heavy nowadays, digesting the details of Aunt Abi’s death and waiting for whatever would happen in the weeks to follow.

Wyatt’s Great-Aunt Phoebe had taken to popping by Epicenter Pico No. 23 every now and then via the Vera Manor laboratory she-shed portal, which Matilda’s mother Macy interconnected to Halliwell Manor with surprising ease. _Or perhaps not so surprising,_ Matilda mused to herself as she threw on a loose-fitting tank top and gym shorts, opening the door to the balcony, _given both sets of Charmed Ones’ powers and parallel histories._

_10:20 am, Matilda’s Balcony, Madalena Village, Epicenter Pico No. 23_

The cold ash-colored marble cobblestones of the balcony chilled her feet as she traversed the threshold, sliding the door halfway closed behind her. The skies up above the enclosed balcony shone a flawless turquoise, the promise of yet another perfect day in paradise. _So it would seem, were it not for her own raw, aching heart._ She sat cross-legged on the thin rug before her and set about calming her mind, an exercise recommended by Morgana herself to quell anxious thoughts.

She checked her phone for easy meditation steps and accompanying background music.

 _1\. Sit comfortably. Done and done,_ Matilda thought to herself, making sure the surrounding potted palm fronds weren’t jutting into her elbows. She placed her arms outward in every direction. _All clear._ She checked for the next step: _2\. Close your eyes._ Noticing there were steps three and four, she reviewed those as well. _3\. Simply breathe naturally_ , and finally, _4\. Focus your attention on the breath and on how the body moves with each inhalation and exhalation_.

It seemed counterintuitive to close one’s eyes and be expected to somehow know steps three and four. _I mean, we’re not_ all _mind-reading empaths_ , Matilda rolled her eyes. _As for music,_ she began thumbing through YouTube.

_10:28 am, Matilda’s Balcony, Madalena Village, Epicenter Pico No. 23_

_Ok then. Close eyes, breathe, focus on the body._ Matilda slowly closed her eyes and began her meditation, playing the “Shamanic Music, Meditation Music Relax Mind Body, Relaxing Music, Slow Music” she had found on YouTube. _Two million hits meant it had to be good, right?_ Matilda’s breath gradually eased as her shoulder muscles slackened, listening to the low melodic hum of the bamboo flute that reminded her of a distant tropical forest…

_Her arms transformed into wings as she found herself soaring above a lush rainforest, in hues vaguely reminiscent of Frenchman Paul Gaugin, with an aquamarine waterfall, a rose pink dried-grass treehouse hut on elevated stilts thirty stories above the soft, dirt-hewn ground, and palm trees aplenty. She counted eight…nine…ten varieties of such palm trees and a myriad of tropical plants besides, as she observed the electric blue foreground shadowing, the lightening bugs that illuminated the once-frightening darkness that had subsided its reign of terror and curled up much like a panther, entering its own little world of dream-filled slumber. The glittered edges of the watery horizon hinted at what Matilda knew her mother called “bioluminescent waves”—a phenomenon causing the waves to glow neon blue, a result of naturally-occurring algae. Her mother hadn’t the same sense of wonder at shining objects, preferring instead to rely on her scientific expertise to explain away chemical remnants of magic._

_Her mother’s scientific reasoning of yore helped Matilda realize in that moment that the forest could only be located in the western corridor of the Americas—likely anywhere around California’s coast, all the way down to the myth-filled Mexico, alebrijes and all, she had heard about in her childhood storybooks. What significance was California to her? That was easy—Wyatt, she thought as she alighted on the treehouse’s straw roof. The tropical landscape must be from her memories living in the Azores Islands all her life, mixed with the Seattle forests where she went hiking, whenever she had a free moment around Vera Manor._

_The comforting lull of the bamboo flute dipped lower by an octave, continuing its ambient melody that permeated the fertile woodland. Do I stay or do I go? Matilda wondered, as she stretched out her wings once more. She realized that she had been led here by the powers that be. To make a decision, perhaps? She had no idea. Was it even a choice, having been thrust into this artistic vision? Being led seemed more apt as she sprang from the grassy roof and soared above the treehouse, once, twice, then three times, then landed atop the damask-hued balcony facing the wooden-stilt door. She stared into the darkness of the room ahead, knowing that her current aviary form meant she wasn’t strong enough to push the door open. Just to say she had though, she attempted to push through and the door surprisingly gave way._

_Immediately, an envelope dropped into her hand—_

_11 am, Matilda’s Balcony, Madalena Village, Epicenter Pico No. 23_

Her eyes sprang open, as she felt waves of calm fall upon her. _Had she really meditated for nearly half an hour? A new record_ , Matilda mused, as her fidgeting, restless nature ran counter to the very tenets of meditation itself. She really ought to tell Morgana—

_And she realized she held an envelope in her hand._

The same one from her meditation, just minutes ago. _What the hell?_ Matilda loosened her grip and surveyed its outsides. _Completely blank—except for her name, written in simple, hand-scrawled calligraphy._

 _Matilda,_ it read. Looking around the room, she found no trace of any other human presence.

 _"Creeper,"_ she muttered, biting her lip to suppress a grin. _Wyatt must’ve orbed and snuck up on her._

Opening the envelope, she found an invitation to a dance, to be held at Vera Manor Garden in roughly two weeks’ time. _Ok then. This was really happening, wasn’t it?_ To reassure herself this wasn’t a figment of her imagination, she snapped a photo of the envelope and group-texted it to Phoebe and Aunt Maggie, both of whom were exercising their empath abilities in Vera Manor’s attic. _Guess what I got today,_ her text read, as she clicked the airplane icon, denoting “Send.”

_7 pm, One Week Before the Day Of, Maggie’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

Maggie and Phoebe helped Matilda dress for her dance with Wyatt that would occur a week later. “How about this “Lace Trim Floral Print Twill Dress” I found online?” Matilda asked the pair, regarding a below-the knee olive green eyelet dress that seemed the perfect amount of casual-chic. _And it had pockets, like every other outfit she wore._ Phoebe gasped in horror as Maggie cringed, uttering the shrillest of shrieks punctuated by an eerie silence.

 _“Please_ tell me you’re kidding,” Maggie stared at Matilda’s saved selection on her phone.

“Matilda, you want to be the _belle_ of the ball, _not_ the pumpkin stem—” Phoebe gently admonished as she eyed what she perceived as a severe affront to polyester fabric. “No, no, _no._ Allow _us._ ” She and Maggie seized Matilda’s phone and perused several websites’ worth of custom-made dresses, occasionally glancing above the handheld device to scrutinize Matilda’s skin tone, facial features, hair, and estimated dimensions. _Seriously?_ Matilda silently groused as the two older women continued their fashionista investigations.

“Also, doesn’t Uncle Jordan mind we’ve taken over this space? It’s his bedroom too…” Matilda remarked.

“Oh, he doesn’t mind,” Maggie airily replied as she flipped through a bevy of BHLDN gowns, each prettier than the next. “He’s with Harry and Leo watching football in the living room.”

_7:15 pm, Maggie’s Bedroom, Vera Manor, Seattle, Washington_

“OMYGAWD…I found it!” Phoebe yelled, startling Matilda and Maggie, who had taken a break from dress hunting. “Ombre glitter long dress, teal, by _Venus,_ ” Phoebe recited aloud, showing the screen to them both.

“Those _colors…”_ breathed Maggie. “ _Amazeballs.”_ The two turned to Matilda, who seemed somewhat less impressed.

“But does it have pockets?” the auburn-haired witch skeptically inquired.

Maggie paid via automated payment online and threw a handful of glamour powder atop the screen, causing the three to be enveloped in a cloud of hazy green smoke.

“ _I_ _t does now_ ,” Phoebe answered, as the dress appeared in her arms, hidden pockets and all.

_8 pm, Day Of, Vera Manor Garden, Seattle, Washington_

Matilda peeked over the edge of the glass-enclosed Vera Manor Garden patio doorway. Her dress fit perfectly, according to Phoebe and Maggie, both of whom disappeared to who knows where. _Here goes nothing,_ she posited, her hands shaking as she reached for the door—

And found it being opened for her, by none other than a certain well-dressed gentleman.

 _“Wyatt?”_ Matilda exclaimed incredulously. _Indeed it was_. His dark curly hair had been neatly trimmed and combed back; he wore a pale grey dress shirt and dark slacks, along with a slate-colored tie to complete the ensemble. “You look like you stepped out of a Brooks Brothers ad…”

He laughed as he kissed her and reached for her hand. “ _Nice to see you too, Val_.” Together, they made their way to the cobblestone path beneath the trellised tealights, all of which were perfectly aglow this summer evening, with the distant sounds of chirping crickets, the _ribbits_ of lawn frogs, and the rattle of a cicada or two. Once they had reached a certain spot, Wyatt knelt down on one knee and pulled a box from his jacket pocket. “Matilda Marcella Valensi,” he began, his voice trembling, “you have been _the_ mischievous, one-of-a-kind light of my life since the very moment I met you. Even though the prophecy spoke of me teaching you, you have taught me more about life than I could ever imagine. I love how you always keep me on my toes, and I want to share forever with you. _Will you marry me?_ ”

By now, both were beginning to tear up. “ _Are you shitting me—YES!_ YES!” Matilda squealed. The ring, she noticed, was a round diamond solitaire with two “Charmed” Celtic triquetras, one on each side of the diamond.

“To symbolize the uniting of both our families of Charmed Ones,” Wyatt said by way of explanation as he slipped the jewelry on her left ring finger.

“It’s _beautiful,”_ she replied, angling her hand this way and that, observing how the gem caught and reflected the light from up above. She shrieked and laughed as Wyatt suddenly whirled her around beneath the tea lights once more, her crimson curls flying in a blur.

_8:10 pm, Vera Manor Garden, Seattle, Washington_

Once the couple had calmed down somewhat, Wyatt kissed Matilda again. “I really _should_ do something about that filthy mouth of yours,” he practically growled in her ear as she shivered in delight. “But first—our first dance as an engaged couple?” Wyatt gestured past the tea lights; Matilda gave a start as she noticed a portable piano, behind which was Melanija Paradis herself, once again, as she began a cover of Kina Grannis’ interpretation of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis Presley.

_“Wise men say only fools rush in/But I can't help falling in love with you…”_

Matilda’s right hand clasped Wyatt’s left as they moved to the melody of the ethereally entrancing music, a far cry from its original masculine croon. The tempo was far slower, reminiscent of Norah Jones’ award-winning “Don’t Know Why,” Matilda noticed, as she nestled her head atop his shoulder. _For over two and a half decades, I tried convincing myself it was better for everyone if I was alone,_ she mused to herself. _That I didn’t need a family. But I know now that I was wrong. And I know that you will always be there for me and I will always be there for you, because our fates were written in the stars from the very beginning._

_8:11 pm, Maggie’s Bedroom, Seattle, Washington_

Jordan sat on their bed, typing out another appellate brief for the hearing set to occur in three days’ time. His fingers paused over the keyboard as the piano melody filtered in from the nearby window.

_“Like a river flows/Surely to the sea…”_

He grinned to himself; it seemed that Matilda had accepted Wyatt’s hand in marriage. He knew they would make the announcement the next morning over breakfast; there was no rush. They were perfect for each other, and he looked forward to the day they would eventually marry and Vera Manor Garden would be filled once more with a throng of magical beings, for a happier, more joyful reason this time around.

_“Darling, so it goes/Some things are meant to be…”_

“J-Jordan?” Jordan glanced toward his wife, Maggie, who slowly closed the door behind her, walked over as if in a daze, and sat down next to him.

“What is it babe?” he asked, noticing her peculiar expression.

“I-I thought Morgana was off her rocker—” Maggie began, her voice trembling. “We’ve tried for years— _decades_ —and I’m forty-ish—”

“Babe, what exactly are you trying to say?” Jordan angled his head, puzzled.

She showed him a piece of plastic with two blue lines. “What—?” _Then it dawned on him._ “You’re—?”

Maggie nodded. “ _I’m pregnant.”_

_8:12 pm, Maggie’s Bedroom, Seattle, Washington_

“ _S-seriously?_ Like, really, _really?”_ Jordan stammered as Maggie smiled, wiping away a few stray tears. He reached over and enveloped her in a hug, culminating in a slow, steady kiss. “You’re going to be _the_ best mom in the history of the universe, Vera—I just _know_ it—”

“I’m gonna be that gray-haired pregnant lady,” she inwardly cringed, referencing the Judd Apatow “This is 40” movie.

“Says who?” Jordan murmured, stroking his wife’s dark locks of hair. “And even if you are, which you won’t be, you’ll be the sexiest pregnant lady _ever. Says your husband, yours truly_.”

“Touché, Jordan, _touché_ ,” Maggie answered as Jordan reached over to kiss her belly, flat now but which would blossom in the coming months.

“Hey, it’s me, Jordan, your dad—” he began.

“Plus your mom—” interjected Maggie.

“And we’ve waited for you for a very long time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matilda’s dress: https://www.venus.com/productlanding.aspx?BRANCH=7~72~&ProductDisplayID=37698&clr=TLMU&sc=FS75&cm_mmc=PLA-_-Google-_-Y68747-S-TLMU-_-BKT_G-UN&gclid=CjwKCAjwkJj6BRA-EiwA0ZVPVnGDPqbsXhJgI-DdyIk7ZmTlOJ7xQ7UZKhTVnnK0LphSOS0fKaX2lRoC_xEQAvD_BwE
> 
> Meditation: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WzWn2zV10Vc
> 
> Kina Grannis cover of “Can’t Help Falling in Love”: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=COFgTynydQE  
> Matilda’s Double Triquetra Engagement Ring: https://www.google.com/search?q=triquetra+engagement+ring&rlz=1CDGOYI_enUS835US835&hl=en-US&prmd=sinv&sxsrf=ALeKk01xdlEhhXva5vKPv457snL1xenpyg:1598467203480&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjLveSuwrnrAhXuQ98KHb_CClMQ_AUoAnoECA8QAg&biw=375&bih=553#imgrc=PiviOwhyy58e_M
> 
> Matilda’s end quote: based on Charmed (2018) S1 finale Macy to sisters:  
> "You know...for twenty-nine years I have been trying to convince myself that it would be better for everyone if I was alone. That I didn't need a family. But I know now that I was really, really wrong. And I know that you will always be there for me and I will always be there for you because we're sisters."


	36. TFB: Mr. & Mrs. Halliwell

36 TFB: Mr. & Mrs. Halliwell

_“I don’t know how this river runs/But I’d like the company through every twist and turn…”_

-Ben Platt, song “Grow as We Go”

_7 pm, One Year Later, Vera Manor Garden, Seattle, Washington_

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today,” Morgana began, peering at the attendees through her beaded bifocals, “to witness the joining together of Matilda Valensi and Wyatt Halliwell, the second of his name in the sanctified covenant of matrimony, thereby uniting two formidable Charmed families.” Jordan beamed up at his beautiful grown-up niece Matilda, dressed in an impeccably chic BHLDN floor-length bohemian gown. _It seemed like yesterday he was babysitting her toddler self, convincing her to eat her mushy peas._ He felt a tiny set of fingers wrap around his own and smiled at the small, squirming bundle Maggie held in her arms. _Lucretia Abigael. His little Lucy, at long last, conceived the very evening the Portender had been vanquished._

For as long as he could remember, Jordan worked as hard as he could, becoming an EMT, a lawyer, a sports gym operator and instructor—cramming in as much as he possibly might before the Chase family curse wielded its ugly head, cutting his life unceremoniously short at the tender age of twenty-five. He had the Charmed Ones to thank for that—in particular, a certain woman by the name of Maggie Vera. “ _Formidable. I like Morgana’s word choice,”_ Jordan whispered in Maggie’s ear as she grinned, recalling how he had called her by the term those many years ago, back when the cellar of SafeSpace had been her and her sisters’ emergency safe haven as she sought to free him from his doomsday.

_7:20 pm, Vera Manor Garden, Seattle, Washington_

Macy sat next to Harry in the front aisle mere feet from her daughter Matilda. Her BHLDN Bronx & Banco _Amora_ dress fit like a glove, its coppery floral-petaled silk shimmering in the summer breeze, complementing her corkscrew curls perfectly, which were currently nestled in the crook of his shoulder. Their oldest daughter Maya sported a lovely trumpet mermaid one-shoulder asymmetric damask pink bridesmaid dress, standing to her sister’s side at the ready.

“ _I never thought I’d live to see this moment,”_ Harry murmured between Macy’s curls, as she turned her head toward him. He recalled the time Jimmy, his Darklighter, called from the abyss crying for help, himself knowing all the while that the destruction of Jimmy meant that of his own. _A Widomaker’s Heart,_ he termed it, when speaking to Mel about the grave situation at hand. Walking his daughter down the aisle just now gave him a miraculous sense of wonder at life having come full circle at last. “I never thought I’d be lucky enough to be married—again—and have kids—once more—”

“But you did, and you have, and you’ve been the best husband and father anyone could ever ask for,” Macy kissed the tips of Harry’s chestnut-silvery sideburns as they watched the ceremony come to a joyous close. Rising, they walked to the outer edge of the garden as Piper’s catering company swooped in to rearrange the rows of seating into a reception-style banquet arrangement. The pair entered the hidden hollow beneath the towering begonia bush.

_7:30 pm, Begonia Bush, Vera Manor Garden, Seattle, Washington_

“Will I be a good grandfather though?” Harry’s face was lined with worry. “I missed out entirely with Carter’s children—and only had a glimpse of his grandchildren—”

“You had a memory wipe that took everything away from you, you searched for Carter, and you made sure he was loved, septuagenarian and all. If that’s any indication, I think you’d make an _excellent_ granddad someday. The _very_ best,” Macy kissed him softly, completely oblivious to the throng of magical folk in Vera Manor Garden.

“Thank you for that,” he replied. “For the record, I think you’ll make a rather attractive, _vixen-like_ grandmother, if I do say so myself, _Dr. Valensi,_ ” Harry breathed, savoring the scent of jasmine on her tawny curls, lined ever-so-slightly with a hint of glimmering silver.

“Oh you do, _do you_?” Macy surveyed his now-smoldering eyes with a mischievous expression. “Care to test that theory sometime?”

“Wouldn’t mind if I do,” Harry responded. “But sometime later, _love_ , the wedding party beckons.”

“ _As you wish.”_ Macy grinned as he reached for her hand and kissed it, making eye contact all the while.

The pair gingerly stepped out of the cavernous fuchsia begonia-blossomed surroundings, returning once more to the excited chatter of the wedding party, the sparkling trellised tealights glowing overhead with a hint of ambient jazz filtering through, ushering in the promise of a future generation of witches, warlocks, and Whitelighters alike.

-THE END-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANKS for reading! Feel free to follow me on Twitter and Instagram (and to hear my latest piano improv music!)
> 
> Mother of the Bride Dress: Later: https://www.bhldn.com/products/amora-dress?gclid=CjwKCAjw1K75BRAEEiwAd41h1NqHRS9myfsC4m_URHX8XlSBDLASlRPe9EUXtWLVO3NBWX1mrwUJPhoCA2kQAvD_BwE&gclsrc=aw.ds
> 
> Bridesmaid Damask Dress: https://www.jjshouse.com/Trumpet-Mermaid-One-Shoulder-Asymmetrical-Lace-Cocktail-Dress-016170891-g170891/?utm_term=JScUSleng170891&utm_source=facebook&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=23844485670270780&fbclid=IwAR1-IQvMCPPKG_Hdw1n-8pbIxaOM0BhSva0WbGOg0apPt6skl1VBjMSUjU0


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